


Something Yet to Learn

by Van



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 21:58:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6725179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Van/pseuds/Van
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tarrant tries to put the pieces back together after Gauda Prime and is surprised by what sticks. (Unrequited Vila/Tarrant, implied background Vila/Avon, but primarily non-shippy.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This didn't start as a Tarrant redemption fic, but it is how it ended up. It's really written for people who don't like Tarrant but maybe wish they did. Betaing provided by irreparable and babel. Originally written over the course of several months in 2008. There are ten chapters in total. 
> 
> Warning: there are two non-explicit but still impactful rapes in this story.

Space Captains were trained to withstand torture interrogation, but because he once had high-ranking family members in the Federation and managed to get some strings pulled, that was among the courses Tarrant had been allowed to skip. After all, Space Commanders were not interrogated—they were the interrogators.

Gasping, Tarrant curled into himself as he was unceremoniously dropped back onto the now familiar concrete floor. Blood trickled from his mouth, and he sucked his tongue because the sharp copper taste was better by far than that which had he been previously made to endure. He coughed as the footsteps of his assailants receded away and crawled closer to the wall so he would be protected at least on one side. It didn’t take very long before the shock of what had just been forced on him wore off and he began to shiver violently.

Hours—or maybe minutes—later, voices began to drift dreamlike through his consciousness, forming into words. “Clean up this mess!” someone shouted gruffly. Tarrant heard the sound of something heavy being dragged across the concrete, and then the same someone cursed. “Bloody hell, someone pick that up. Is he dead?”

Two pairs of strong hands lifted Tarrant to his feet and held him upright. Though he tried, he found he could hardly open his eyes, let alone lift his head to view his speaker.

“New arrival, sir,” another man said. “Brought in last night with a lot from GP. Couple DOA. All rebel scum.”

Someone lifted Tarrant’s hand and was now prodding his fingertips. To Tarrant’s surprise, the first man said, “Bloody fucking Federation.” Dropping his hand, he continued, “Thinking they can send us their renegade Alphas for transport and expect to get them back in one piece.” Sighing with exasperation, the man said, “All right. Hose him down, put some trousers on him and stick him in the compound in Quadrant Three. This happens again, we’ll have to clear him a spot in isolation. He’s marked for interrogation and won’t be a lick of use to anyone they keep it up like this, and with a pretty mouth and soft hands like that, they will.”

“Yes, sir.” The hands holding him tightened, dragging him, but Tarrant lost his tenuous grip on consciousness.

When next he woke, Tarrant found himself on his back on one of the hard flat slabs that passed for beds in prison with a thin, scratchy blanket draped over him. His feet hung off the edge, but he had been given new shoes. Groaning miserably, he rolled onto his side, drawing his legs up painfully. He was dimly aware he was damp all over and that someone had fitted him into a pair of too-small trousers, but that was only peripheral to the rest of his predicament. His left eye had swollen shut, his lips felt numb and inflamed and the rest of his body felt like it had been worked over by thugs.

Tarrant was loath to realize that it had.

“You’re awake,” someone said, sounding relieved.

In his haze of pain, Tarrant thought the voice sounded familiar and though it was agony for him to do so, he lifted his head. Even with the compound lights dimmed, he recognized that face. “Vila!” he cried in hoarse surprise. Though they had been brought in together, he had not expected to see anyone he knew again.

“Shh,” Vila said, glancing around in that furtive way of his. “Not here, I’m not.”

“I never thought I would be glad to see you,” Tarrant said, aware his words were coming out slurred from his ravaged throat. Struggling through the pain, he made to sit up, but Vila put a hand on his shoulder, shoving him back down onto the bed rather forcefully. “Vila, what the hell?”

“You’ll stay there until I tell you to get up, too,” Vila said in the hardest voice Tarrant had ever heard from him. Off Tarrant’s bewildered expression, Vila moved in closer. “I’ll explain later,” he said quietly, “once lights out is over.” Reaching to his side, he brought up a wet rag. “Here,” he said. “Hold this against your eye.” He positioned it, lifted and set Tarrant’s hand to hold it and once it was in place, got up and briskly walked off into the compound.

From where he lay, Tarrant could only watch the path he took for a short distance, but as soon as Vila was lost from sight, he felt instantly uneasy. Though no one was visible in the darkness, Tarrant nevertheless felt eyes on him. Somewhere to his right, he heard the shuffling of feet. After a few more seconds, someone laughed low and deep.

“Who’s there?” Tarrant demanded as haughtily as he could, though it came out as little more than a rasp. “Show yourself.”

“What’ve we got here?” someone replied, stepping into view. It was an ugly criminal like the rest, dressed in standard prison grays, dirty and unkempt with a lecherous leer on his face. “Putting pretty Alphas like you in here with us now, are they? Rare treat.”

Unfamiliar fear clutched at Tarrant again, as it had the first time he had been assaulted hours earlier. That had been a mob though; no less than five strong, determined men. This was just one lecherous looking swine that couldn’t even seem to stand fully upright. Even injured as he was, Tarrant felt he had a chance. He certainly wasn’t going to give into more abuse. Gritting his teeth, he dropped the rag and propped himself up on his elbows. 

Swallowing to make sure he spoke clearly, Tarrant retorted, “The welcoming committee has been less than up to its usual standards.” 

“I’d watch that pretty little mouth of yours,” the stooped filth said, eyeing said mouth non-too-subtly. “Fancy words won’t get you help now.”

“No, but I rather imagine my fancy fists will.”

The way the man’s gaze swept over him made Tarrant shudder, and the man said, “Sure don’t look like you had much luck with them.”

“You should see the other guy,” Tarrant bluffed. 

Steeling himself, Tarrant sat up, wincing as sharp, fresh pain shot lightning hot along his spine. Pressing his palms to the slab beneath him, he pushed himself to his feet. As he had assumed, he practically towered over his would-be assailant. Unfortunately, whatever intimidation he could display was almost instantly lost as his knees immediately gave out, sending him falling onto his backside onto the bed. The jolt of pain that ripped through him was like being split in two and he cried out, temporarily blind to all else.

Even through his pain, Tarrant heard the man laugh dark and delightedly, and begin his advance.

“Thought I told you this one was mine?” 

The man spun around at the voice and Tarrant forced his one good eye open, gritting his teeth to swallow down the pain that threatened to overcome him. Once focused, he found Vila had returned, now fixing a dangerous glare at the stranger.

“Saying it don’t make it so,” the man countered.

“Don’t mind doing more than saying,” Vila replied levelly. He lifted his hand and, to Tarrant’s surprise, where it had been empty moments ago he now held a small metal probe like a street thug would hold a knife. Tarrant recognized it as just one of Vila’s lock picking tools, but he was certain it could puncture an eye—or skin, if used hard enough.

To Tarrant’s disbelief, Vila took what he could only interpreted as a threatening step forward. With his head down, Vila’s eyes glittered darkly in the dim prison and he truly looked menacing. 

The swine interested in Tarrant obviously came to the same conclusion and spat at Vila’s feet. “Don’t want your ruined Alpha goods anyway.” He stumbled forward, moving past Vila. Their shoulders collided roughly, Vila the instigator, and the stranger passed into the compound without further incident.

For several awkward seconds after, Vila stood there glaring down at him. It took a few seconds for Tarrant to realize Vila was breathing hard and his hands were shaking—he was terrified.

“Vila,” Tarrant began, uncertainly.

“Don’t do that again, Del,” Vila sharply, loudly demanded.

“ _What_?”

“Restal,” he corrected, advancing on him. “In here, if you want to survive, you’ll call me Restal.”

“The hell sort of game are you playing at, Vila?”

In one swift move, Vila had the lock pick probe pressed against Tarrant’s throat. It was not a sharp instrument, but there was no doubt in Tarrant’s mind that it could be used to kill him. Were it anyone but Vila holding it, he might have even felt threatened. 

“If you prefer, I can leave you alone and let whatever meaty bastards get their hands on you that want to. Again. Figured the state you’re in after just one night in this place, that’d be something you might rather avoid.” Vila’s voice was hard and cold; it was utterly unlike the useless drunkard Tarrant knew.

Tarrant realized Vila _was not_ remotely in the state he was. Either he had suffered the same fate and miraculously recovered already, or he knew how to avoid getting into that sort of situation in the first place. Loath though Tarrant was to admit it, Vila had much more knowledge and experience in this sort of place than he did; logic dictated that perhaps he ought to at least listen. 

It wasn’t easy. “I’ll not be your subordinate,” Tarrant hissed. He gripped Vila’s wrist and pulled the probe off his neck.

“Then expect a pretty, soft, young Alpha like you to be worked over nightly, until youth is all that remains. If you’re lucky.” Vila slipped the tool into a pocket.

Unnerved by the proclamation and ignoring it in lieu of denial, Tarrant tried to change the subject. “If you’ve got one of your tools, why are we still in this place?”

“Have they already knocked sense out of you?” Vila stared at him. “Even if I _could_ open the high security doors with a standard probe, I don’t think we’d be much match for the armed guards and endless corridors beyond. But maybe that’s just me.”

Frustrated that Vila was right—and that he was also probably right about more than just that—Tarrant grimaced and focused on the far wall. “You’re a Delta,” he said, angry. “If anything, shouldn’t you be _my_ subordinate?”

“Maybe you haven’t noticed yet,” Vila said, still bent down to his level, “but we’re in a Federation operated prison compound. Those grades aren’t worth dirt in here. In fact, they mean just about the opposite they did before. An Alpha that screws up bad enough to get himself lobbed in with a bunch of Delta criminals is just like throwing a Grade-A steak to a pack of ravenous dogs.” He raised a hand, touching one of Tarrant’s still-damp curls. “And you’re pretty top of the line to them, Tarrant. A lot more so than me, these days.”

Uncomfortable with the touch, Tarrant jerked his head away from Vila’s hand and winced at the pain that lanced through him at the motion. “You’ve made your point,” he said darkly. “Don’t push it.”

Vila picked up the rag that had fallen from Tarrant’s swollen eye. He moved to the bucket beside the narrow bed and soaked it before handing it back, along with a cup of water.

Taking it, Tarrant pressed it to his eye wordlessly. He did not think about where the water had come from, just drank it down quickly. It was metallic tasting and lukewarm, but made his throat feel much better. This was too strange a situation; he refused to even let himself think on the events of the night before, let alone that Vila would be the one to keep it from happening again. After crashing Scorpio and finding Blake, just to have Avon shoot him down and get stormed by Federation troopers, finding himself here, with Vila, was just too much. It was all like some unending nightmare that he hoped he would wake from soon. 

Wincing as Vila settled beside him, jostling the slab slightly, Tarrant said coldly, “I will kill you if you actually try anything.”

“As if I’d want to!” Vila protested. He fell quiet. “Still,” he said after a few more seconds, “at least we’re together.”

“Some luck,” Tarrant replied. He pulled the rag from his eye to look at it, but though it felt like there should be, there was no sign of blood. Replacing it, he felt anger and despair well in him. Needing to be vicious in the face of such injustice, he lashed out at Vila—the one person he felt he still could still control. “ _Avon_ wouldn’t have let this happen at all.”

“Avon’s dead, Tarrant,” Vila said flatly. “Or good as.”

The defeated voice Vila used knocked the wind out of him. Despite Tarrant’s long dislike for Avon, he found the knowledge that he was dead somehow unacceptable. “You’re probably right. I would say he deserves it, but really, I pity him. He had an excellent mind until he let paranoia corrupt it.” When Vila didn’t respond to that, he tried again. “The others?”

Noncommittally, Vila shrugged. “Could be they’re in a similar place for female prisoners. Could be they’re both dead. Or wishing they were.”

“Optimistic today, aren’t you?”

“Blake’s dead,” Vila said, sadness evident in his voice. “Avon killed him. Not much worth hoping for after that, is there?”

“Oh, come now,” Tarrant said, surprised by his sudden desire to comfort. “You’ve thought he was dead in the past and that never stopped you. The way you told some of those adventures you’ve been in with Blake before, this should be walk in the park by comparison.”

Vila was silent for so long, Tarrant thought he wasn’t going to answer at all. “It’s just different, now,” Vila softly said at length. “Avon’s gone. Blake’s gone. We’re not getting out of this one. There’s no one _to_ get us out of this one. Nowhere to go, either, even if there were someone.”

“You don’t _know_ Avon is dead,” Tarrant countered, finishing the last mouthful of water in his cup and setting it down. “Anyway, it was his psychosis that landed us in this mess. Why you would expect him to get us out of it, or why you would even go back with him if he did, is beyond me.”

“He wasn’t all bad,” Vila said softly. The man Vila had become to frighten away Tarrant’s assailant had faded away completely. It was just quiet, unassuming, cowardly little Vila again. Tarrant would have found his presence annoying if the circumstances were different. “Things just got rough at the end. He needed help.”

That implied a level of guilt Tarrant wasn’t interested in examining. “Get up,” he said, wearily. “I am exhausted and hurt and would like to sleep.”

To his surprise, Vila obeyed without protest. “Get some rest,” Vila agreed. “I’ll be close by.” Not meeting Tarrant’s eye, Vila added, softer, “We’re going to have to fake it, you know.” 

“Fake what?” Tarrant asked, the hair rising along his neck. He knew exactly what Vila meant.

Instead of answering, Vila gave him _a look_. “Best if we try it in the showers. The public claim will help convince others without me having to resort to violence, and they actually have doors in there, which will help. With the fakeness.”

Tarrant could only stare at him. It wasn’t something he could make himself verbally agree to.

Suddenly hard and cold again, Vila said, “Tell me you don’t want me to and I won’t bother wasting my time. I’ve risked my life for you before for no thanks. Don’t think I’ll be heartbroken to not have to do it again.”

Even with as sheltered an upbringing as Tarrant had, he knew the prison stories. He knew that men were raped and sometimes formed bonds with other prisoners. A strong prisoner might protect a weaker one in exchange for sexual exclusivity. In a world like this, it made sense. It was just hard to imagine useless, cowardly _Vila_ being his _protector_. 

It seemed like every inch of Tarrant’s body hurt from the night before. His strength and stamina had proved futile against the might of determined prisoners who knew what they wanted from him and how to get it. Crossing his arms self consciously as flashes of memory returned to him—savage bodies delighting in virgin flesh—Tarrant’s gaze unfocused and he shook his head. “No,” he said. “No, I do appreciate it.” Even softer, he added, “I don’t want to go through that again.”

Nodding, Vila stepped back. “I’ll be close around, so. Get some rest. Best way to heal up, really. From . . . from that sort of thing.”

That was an admission, and Tarrant jerked his head up at it, his gaze fixing on Vila. To his surprise, Vila met and held it, until that penetrating stare forced Tarrant to look away. Of course. Vila and Avon had been condemned criminals before they had been rebels. All of Blake’s people had been, except for Cally, and she merely because they’d never caught her. Vila knew what to do in this situation because he had been here before. He had experienced this sort of thing, first hand.

Settling back on the narrow bed, pulling the thin blanket over his shoulders, Tarrant found it didn’t give him any comfort at all. In fact, it just made him feel worse. Whoever Vila had managed to get as a protector—if he had managed one at all—had probably demanded the usual payment. Though better than what had happened to him last night, the thought of such an arrangement twisted Tarrant’s gut. Despite everything, he found himself feeling sorry for _Vila_. That sort of thing was a step up from gang rape, but only just.

And with Vila not demanding any payment, Tarrant was realizing just how lucky he had it.  
\--

“Del! Del, _get up_!”

It wasn’t until Vila actually kicked him in the side that Tarrant awoke. It hadn’t been an especially hard kick, but on top of his preexisting injuries it was near excruciating. Scrambling up in alarm, Tarrant looked around with bleary eyes—one was still nearly swollen shut. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I said get up,” Vila replied, his voice cruel.

Realizing they must have an audience, Tarrant struggled to his feet. It took a few seconds for the vertigo he felt to pass, and while he was wavering on his feet, Vila stepped very close, put a steadying hand against his side and held him up. Though he was unaccustomed to such intimacy, especially from _Vila_ , Tarrant was grateful for the support. “Is it morning already?”

“Or what passes for it,” Vila agreed. “Come on, they’re serving soon and if we miss out they won’t serve again for hours. You need to eat something.”

Steeling himself against the pain, Tarrant released Vila and followed him away from the slab that he had been using as a bed. In the artificial daylight, Tarrant found that the compound was unlike any other prison facility he had seen or read about before. There were no individual cells, merely one large open common area where the inmates were free to roam. Beds and bunks lined the walls, some recessed into alcoves for a modicum of privacy. There were no windows and the center of the compound housed a few large tables, where prisoners ate or played games.

To the front of the area were the main doors, where guards were posted. Tarrant surmised this was also where the prisoners—all dirty Delta scum as far as he could tell—went to get the meals that were doled out by a computer through a processing machine. It was primarily protein rations, served in a myriad of textures and colors in a failed effort to be more appealing to the palette. Tarrant made to queue up, but Vila pushed his way forward, cutting the line and glaring at the fellow behind him when he did. A few heated words were exchanged, though Tarrant couldn’t hear them over the din the prisoners made as they worked the line.

In moments, Vila returned with two steaming trays of the stuff. He pushed one into Tarrant’s hands, glaring menacingly at someone beyond him. “Sit down here and eat,” Vila ordered, gesturing to an empty bench at one of the tables, but keeping his eyes on the someone behind Tarrant. “Do as I say and don’t look around,” he added, his voice pitched lower, but not quite a whisper.

Deciding he was too tired to argue and that it was just easier to go along as instructed, Tarrant sat. The protein was mostly tasteless but pleasantly warm and he became aware of how hungry he was as he ate. After a few seconds Vila sat down to his right, casually placing his left hand possessively on the small of Tarrant’s back as he did. Instinctively, Tarrant stiffened but held his tongue as people were watching. More than anything, the casual touch felt odd, but in a way, it was also strangely comforting. If it worked, it would be worth it.

Shortly after the dining period, one of the far compound walls suddenly flickered, then illuminated like a monitor. It displayed a rotating Federation logo, and an introductory theme followed.

“More entertainment?” Tarrant mused.

“News report, more like,” Vila said, not looking up from the deck of cards he had procured from somewhere. “Great way to build morale.”

As the news report went on, depicting the capture, interrogation and execution of various political and petty criminals, Tarrant came to the conclusion Vila was being sarcastic. Though the volume on the report was exceptionally loud, Tarrant found he was one of the only inmates watching the broadcast. The reports were bloody and bleak, obviously designed to reassure the common man that the scum of the galaxy was being taken care of while also terrifying the inmates who were forced to watch it.

There were a few rebel executions that elicited some cheers of interest, but most of the deaths were common criminals, just like those in the compound

On the screen a line of convicts were marched with their hands on top of their heads to stand before a primitive looking a firing squad. The pleasant female voiceover explained where this nest of criminals had been picked up, highlighting briefly their crimes against the Federation. While the narration went on, the firing squad took aim and within the space of ten seconds, dropped the half dozen or so prisoners.

It was all too apparent from the narration that was something along the lines of what he and Vila—and all the other inmates—had to look forward to.

“I fought in the front lines of the Andromedan War,” Tarrant muttered, gingerly fingering his swollen eye when the broadcast ended. “Some thanks I get.”

“There wouldn’t even _be_ a Federation anymore, if Blake hadn’t alerted them to the invasion,” Vila countered, staring down at his cards.

It was a point Tarrant conceded to without saying anything. None of it mattered, anyway. The Federation owed favors to no one, not even its war heroes. In a way, he supposed they were lucky not to have just been executed immediately, like the men and women on the broadcast. The words of the man who had found him last night returned to him. He was to be interrogated eventually. That was probably the only reason he was still alive.

Not many hours later, two Federation guards marched into the compound, rifles held at the ready. Just looking at them, Tarrant knew who they had come for and could guess why.

“We appear to have company,” he said quietly to Vila, who had his back to the guards, shuffling through the battered deck of cards.

Getting to his feet, Tarrant knew this was the sort of thing he could not count on Vila to prevent.

“Del Tarrant?” one of the guards asked.

“What’s it to you?” Tarrant replied.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” With a nod of his head, he said, “Get him,” to the other guard, who gave him an apologetic look, but complied most effectively, unnecessarily ramming the butt of his rifle into Tarrant’s gut.

Vila was on his feet within seconds as the guard next twisted Tarrant’s arm behind him, dropping him to his knee. “Hey!” Vila cried, looking rightfully terrified. He swallowed, apparently reconsidering what he had been going to say, and instead followed up with, “Where’re you taking him?”

Glaring venomously, Tarrant raised his gaze to stare at the first guard who swept his eyes over Vila in a scrutinizing manner. Smirking, he said, “Don’t worry. We’ll bring your pretty little pet back later. If you’re lucky, maybe even in one piece.” Addressing the guard still holding Tarrant, he said, “Get him up.”

Finding himself hauled to his feet, Tarrant threw a glance over his shoulder at Vila. The abject worry on Vila’s face was a little startling. He had not thought Vila cared that much about anyone but himself.

Dragged out of the prison compound and into a holding cell, Tarrant had his hands and feet shackled. From there, he was marched under escort to a small, brilliantly lit white room. It was empty, save for a menacing metal chair in the middle which he was summarily strapped into. No one informed him where he was or what was going to happen, but even though he had skipped Interrogation 101 all those years ago back at the Space Academy, Tarrant recognized this for the Federation style torture chamber that it was.

What he hadn’t realized was how much it would hurt.

The interrogation lasted hours. Tarrant knew only because they informed him of the passage of time every sixty minutes, though that was all they said. Six hours later, he was dumped back into the prison compound, trembling and dehydrated, utterly unable to stand. He was grateful Vila had been waiting and got to him first, dragging him to one of the alcove beds against the wall, for he felt anyone could have used him by that point and it wouldn’t have made a difference.

“Drink,” Vila said, pressing a dirty plastic mug to his lips.

Drinking too greedily made Tarrant dissolve into painful coughing, which Vila soothed by rubbing his back. It was so gentle that Tarrant could only feel humiliated by the act; he would not have done the same for Vila. “They didn’t even ask me anything,” he managed to cough out.

“That’s the Federation for you,” Vila said. “Here, lie back.”

Tarrant did as instructed, feeling Vila’s fingers probing him softly for burns and bruises, hearing him speaking, but the words soon blurred into nonsense. Tarrant’s eyes grew heavy and closed, dropping him into blissful, safe unconsciousness within seconds.


	2. Chapter 2

When he awoke next, it was because the guards were taking Vila.

Tarrant caught only a glimpse of Vila’s grimacing face before he was hauled out of sight. It happened too quickly for Tarrant to even attempt to do anything, though he knew nothing he could have done would have prevented it. With his scant protection gone, he found he was utterly unable to sleep, and so tried to sit up. Vila had left the cup of water on the floor by his bed and Tarrant lifted and drank it.

He had no idea how much time had passed while he had been unconscious. The compound lights were still set to daylight, but that did not mean much. If Vila’s interrogation ran the same course as his, Tarrant realized he would be alone in the compound for six hours. In the artificial daylight, he felt somewhat safe, but he knew when lights-out came, it would be different.

Unable to sit and do _nothing_ , Tarrant staggered to his feet, swallowing his cries of pain as he did. He would pick out someone strong and not too burly and if it got dark before Vila returned, he would make a plea.

Stumbling out of the alcove, he caught himself on one of the community tables and scanned his prospects. They were, almost to a man, unshaven, filthy and lecherous; for them it was a defense mechanism and Tarrant realized by comparison he stuck out like a ray of sunshine. Though he doubted many of them had been born on Earth, not one of them looked as if they would place higher than Delta grade, if that. If he didn’t already know that bond slaves were not sent to prisons like this, he would have suspected several of them as poorman’s runaways.

While he was scanning the compound, one man caught his eye and rose to approach him. The man was a few inches taller than Tarrant and twice as broad. He had a bland, almost blank expression on his face and stood out amongst the rest for being not only bald, but clean shaven. He was at once approachable and intimidating. 

“Looking a bit lost,” the man said gruffly.

Thinking of _intentionally_ selecting this man as his potential protector made Tarrant’s skin crawl, though he knew full well that once the lights were off he might be subjected to him and worse anyway. It didn’t help. “You might say I’ve had a bad day.”

“Interrogators worked you over pretty hard, didn’t they?” One of the man’s hands grabbed Tarrant by the chin and turned his head to the side, to study the bruises no doubt swelling his face. “Must’ve done something real bad, find yourself in here with us.”

“That’s really none of your business,” Tarrant snapped, jerking his head free, despite the pain it caused.

“They took your man out for interrogation too, looks like,” he said. “Must be in for the same crime, yeah? Don’t usually see them so interested in us in here.”

“Was there a purpose to your coming over here, or are you just hoping to talk me into submission?”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Tarrant regretted saying them. That blank face furrowed into a frown and one of the man’s beefy hands formed a fist, punching Tarrant’s stomach, doubling him over effortlessly. The other hand caught his shoulder, holding him up. “You want I should make it a purpose?” he asked.

“I would take it as a kindness if you didn’t,” Tarrant managed, before collapsing into a fit of gasping intermixed with coughing.

“Bit late for that, boy. See, reason we treat your kind like we do,” he said, looping his arm around Tarrant’s middle to drag him out of the center of the compound, “is ‘cause cocky shits like you damn well deserve it. They never put your type in here, ’less you done something real bad.”

Tarrant found himself flung onto one of the slab beds in one of the alcoves. It was bright in the compound and the guards couldn’t help but notice what was happening, but no one did anything to stop it. Unwilling to go silently, Tarrant shouted and then screamed. He fought dirty, with teeth and nails and feet. He got worse than he gave and before long he was subdued, put on his stomach and gagged with his own shirt.

Hours later, when Vila finally found him, Tarrant no longer knew where he was. He barely remembered _who_ he was.

It was dark, so he dimly realized lights were out, but he had no idea of the passage of time. Everything hurt and he faded in and out of consciousness, awakening only when Vila’s moving him to tend his wounds sent pain ripping through him.

Before long, fever took hold and Vila—at least, it must have been Vila—murmured to him wordlessly, dampening his hair and mopping his brow with cold water to break it. Wracking shivers followed and Vila stretched out on the narrow bed alongside him and held him, using his own body heat to warm them. When the lights came back on, Vila left him for a short while, and in his pain induced stupor, Tarrant feared he had been taken by the interrogators again.

The relief that flooded him when Vila returned only a short time later was so great he came awake completely. He found Vila kneeling beside the bed, adding water to a bowl of gruel, mixing it into a kind of soup. Looking up, Vila’s face lit up in surprise. “You’re awake.”

“Am I?” Tarrant croaked. “I had rather hoped this was all a dream.” Vila’s face fell and Tarrant regretted the words. “What happened to you?” he whispered, realizing how badly off Vila looked.

“Interrogated, same as you,” Vila said dismissively, lifting the bowl. “You ought to be able to eat this.” Vila proceeded to spoon feed him, and unable to help himself, Tarrant allowed it.

“Thank you,” Tarrant murmured, but almost as soon as he said it, Vila lowered the bowl, bowing his head to stare down into it. “Vila?” It took a moment to realize Vila was shaking again. “Vila, what’s wrong?”

“How can you ask me that?” Vila whispered. “After what they did to you? I knew they’d take me. I should have thought of some way to stop them while I was gone.”

“What are you talking about?” Tarrant asked, trying to sit up, his brows furrowing. “This is hardly _your fault_ , Vila.”

Vila met his gaze. There was such a guilty, pained expression in his eyes that it made Tarrant’s heart tighten. He could only imagine how Vila must be feeling, after having decided to be his protector. In a way, Tarrant was a bit surprised himself—he didn’t blame Vila at all for what had happened; it hadn’t even occurred to him that he could.

“I knew Avon wasn’t right in the head anymore,” Vila suddenly said. “I kept thinking, you know, we’d pull off the next thing and he’d finally be happy and things would fix themselves. We’d steal a bunch of money. He’d get his alliance. We’d find Blake. Thought Blake would fix him, since I couldn’t.” He shook his head. “I could’ve stopped him, Tarrant. I knew he was self-destructing. I should have stopped him.”

“Vila,” Tarrant said, uncertainly; that was so much more than what he’d been talking about.

“Blake’d still be alive, if I had,” Vila pressed on, staring past him. “And Avon. And those rebels in charge of the base, and Egrorian and Pinder and Justin and Dr. Plaxton and . . . and,” his eyes cleared and he focused right on Tarrant, “and Zeeona. Tarrant, I could have stopped him and I never did. She could still be alive.”

Remembering _her_ in a place like this was horrible. Painfully gritting his teeth together, Tarrant steeled himself to answer, pushing the memory of Zeeona back in his mind to somewhere safe and untainted. “If you had stopped him after Dr. Plaxon, I never would have even met Zeeona. Avon was never your responsibility. And neither am I, for that matter.”

Tarrant did not feel his words were of much comfort to Vila; he didn’t seem to even react to them at all, his eyes remaining dark and distant.

After, Tarrant fell back into a fitful rest, sleeping through the daily news report, though the booming voice of the reporter reverberated painfully through his skull. He dreamed of Avon and Zeeona and unending death and woke only when Vila brought him the evening meal.

No guards came to take them to interrogation that day. When the lights were dimmed again, Tarrant moved on the bed, so Vila could stretch out alongside him. There was no need to fake anything to convince the rest of the inmates. Their rest was not intimate, but to any casual glance it was more than clear what the arrangement was. Tarrant realized it was protecting them both.

The following day was much the same, mostly filled with the consumption of watered-down gruel and rest as his body slowly mended. Sitting on the floor by the bed, Vila entertained himself with string figures he had constructed from shoelaces, as Tarrant was still too weak to move around without considerable effort and pain. The news reported more deaths, more victories for the Federation, more worlds falling back into the Federation’s fold.

“It makes me sick,” Tarrant said, after their evening meal. He was propped on his side now, still too sore to sit up, but feeling restless.

Vila didn’t say anything, but looked up. He had several days worth of stubble now, and there were dark circles under his eyes, all of which Tarrant chose to ignore—he could only imagine how wretched he looked in comparison. 

“Those news reports glorify the killing of all those rebel insurgents but make no noise at all on the innocent deaths caused by the Federation troopers on claiming or reclaiming planets,” Tarrant elaborated. “The bias of the news coverage is appalling and these inmates just eat it up.”

Instead of Vila’s usual ‘That’s the Federation’ quip, he just shrugged and resumed constructing and deconstructing his string figures.

“Doesn’t it infuriate you?” Tarrant prodded. He needed conversation. His body was unable to move about freely so he had to exercise his mind. He knew Vila was not as stupid as he looked—or acted—and could carry his own end of the conversation, if he wanted.

“Probably not as many deaths as you think,” Vila said, not looking up. “Never did anything with the cure to the Pylene-50, did we? Bet they’re still using it. That’s something at least. Better drugged bliss than more deaths, right?”

It all made Tarrant a little cold. Vila had always been depressed as long as Tarrant had known him. He felt a twinge of guilt for not having been more sympathetic towards Vila in the past and thought he could at least try now.

“This is no worse than Terminal,” Tarrant said, instead of answering his statement about the Pylene-50. “People died there. We lost our ship. We were, effectively imprisoned on a hostile planet. We got out of it. We’ll get out of this too, I’m sure of it.”

“No,” Vila said. “We won’t.”

It was such a final statement that Tarrant didn’t know what to say. He had expected Vila to agree softly, or perhaps protest how things were different. He hadn’t expected the flat out rejection of all hope.

“There isn’t going to be a Dorian to come along and rescue us,” Vila said, matter-of-factly. “Avon isn’t going to break out and save us—just like we didn’t break out to save him, either. I’ll tell you what is going to happen, Tarrant. Been in places like this before, you know. Seen what they do to people like us. The torture’ll start up again. Maybe they won’t come today, maybe not even tomorrow, but it’ll start up again. Maybe this time they’ll even ask questions. Depends on if they actually want to know anything. The location of more rebel bases, or where Avon hid Orac, maybe. Don’t have many answers to the first and the second isn’t much, is it? That base wasn’t that big. They probably found him on their own, already.

“But it doesn’t matter if they ask questions or not, really. The interrogations will still happen. It’ll just be worse if they actually want information. They’ll break your mind soon enough, though. Crack it in two. They’re very good at what they do; they’ve had lots of practice.” Vila paused, reflective. 

“Then you’ll be reconditioned,” he continued. “Don’t think you have too much of a criminal record. You might get off light. Send you back to Earth, put you in a land-based flight control job or something, where they can keep an eye on you. Make use of your piloting skills without giving you any real responsibility. You won’t remember any of this, of course. They’ll give you a bunch of false memories. You’ll eat your beans on toast and hate the rebellion and cheer for the Federation. Maybe you’ll even be happy. Could be worse endings, I suppose.”

It was unsettling, mostly because Vila spoke with such certainty. The way he said it, Tarrant could picture it all in his head. What he knew of the Federation told him it was very likely to be true, too. That did not help. “What about you? Will they recondition a multiple-offense Delta?”

“Can’t,” Vila said, starting into another string figure. “They’ve tried. Reconditioning doesn’t work on me. Never has.” He scratched the side of his neck. “If I’m very lucky, they’ll say I raped some grannies or something and send me off to some place like Cygnus Alpha, a shamed and humiliated rebel criminal. More likely, though, they’ll just line me up with some other ‘expendables’ and have a firing squad take me down. No worry about making a martyr out of me, that’s for sure.”

“You killed Bayban the Butcher,” Tarrant pointed out. “You’re one of ‘Blake’s People.’ That has to count for something.”

“No one has to know that, though, do they? Blake’s dead. According to the Federation, he’s been dead since Terminal. If or when they take care of Avon that’ll effectively be them taking care of the rest of us. No need for flashy things like trials or criminal parades. Better to keep us out of the public eye. Out of sight, out of mind, you know.” He unraveled the shoelaces. “It’s all right. Wouldn’t want to go back to Cygnus Alpha, anyway.”

“You escaped from there once,” Tarrant said. “At least there would be a chance.”

Vila just shrugged. “I’m too tired for this,” he said with some finality.

Though Tarrant scooted over to make room on the narrow bed, Vila did not join him or even look up. Watching him listlessly twist the shoelaces into the opening move for a cat’s cradle despite no one around to execute the next move, Tarrant realized Vila meant something else entirely.  
\--

After the fifth or sixth day—Tarrant had lost track of time somewhere—he was able to move around the compound again. The majority of his bruises had faded to tender mottled yellow patches and the pain had numbed to a dull ache that was controllable. So long as he stayed close to Vila, didn’t think about what had happened or catch the eye of any of the men involved, he managed. Whether the Federation had forgotten about them or just didn’t need them yet, Tarrant didn’t know, but neither he nor Vila had been taken for interrogation again. Tarrant was fairly sure this was no intentional kindness, but merely the Federation allowing them just enough rest and recovery time that the next session would not kill them. Now that he was walking again, it wasn’t a very comforting thought.

Folding one leg beneath him, Tarrant settled down at the table beside Vila. Breakfast had just wrapped up and he was preparing to watch the news report. After nearly a week in the compound, both he and Vila were starting to look as dirty and scruffy as the rest. Though he disgusted himself, Tarrant took Vila’s advice to shower only when absolutely necessary. He left his hair tangled and messy and began to stoop and shuffle when he walked—which was not hard, given his injuries. It all worked together to make him less noticeable and less appealing to the other inmates. 

“It’s the same report every day,” Vila said, working on constructing a pattern with his laces that looked vaguely like a flock of birds. “Dunno why you bother watching.”

“It’s something to do,” Tarrant replied. Watching Vila’s hands a few seconds, he said, “Doesn’t _that_ get boring? You only seem to know half a dozen patterns.”

Shrugging, Vila shook the flock of birds out into dirty laces again. The opening music for the news report started and Vila balled the laces up and shoved them into his breast pocket before watching.

The opening montage gave way quickly to a top news story. One second the screen was filled with the slowly spinning Federation logo and the next, it was Avon’s dark featured face. Beside him, Vila stiffened, and Tarrant felt his own body tense up. The picture of Avon was several years old, but the report went on to say he and all of his associates had been apprehended.

The picture grew smaller and beneath it on the screen four more popped up—of Tarrant, Vila, Soolin and Dayna. His and Vila’s photos had a strange, grey-tone laid over them. The girls’ both had an ominous red-tone.

Before Tarrant could ask what Vila thought the color-differences meant, he got his answer. Over the picture of all five of them, the announcer said that earlier that day, two of Avon’s associates had been executed as traitors to the Federation. A muffled cheer went up in the compound, and a few of the inmates glanced back and forth from the photos on the screen to him and Vila.

Almost no one had known what they were in for, but it was all out in a matter of seconds. Judging from the cheers at Dayna and Soolin’s deaths and the dark glances they were now receiving, Tarrant did not think anyone would be sympathetic at all to their side of things.

The pictures faded, but the report was not over. The execution of Dayna and Soolin was not the top story—just the lead-in. Live action footage replaced the photos, resolving to reveal Avon, gaunt and pale and looking disoriented. Incredibly, he was still dressed in his iconic black studded leather. The camera angle switched suddenly, revealing he was being marched out of a prison compound, onto an audience-attended firing range. 

The camera angle was distant and Avon looked impossibly small against the vast expanse of concrete. His gait was strange, almost sluggish. His frame seemed too thin, his hair limp and too grey. When he came to a stop on the mark, he did not defiantly lift his chin and look his killers in the eye, but remained with his head bowed, shoulders slumped, appearing as though he were drugged. 

Staring at the broken man standing amid the sea of concrete, Tarrant realized the purpose of the leathers—in a prison uniform, from this distance, Avon would otherwise be utterly unrecognizable. 

There was no build up, no final words, no sad farewell. It took less than a minute for Avon to come to a stop and face his executioners before they fired upon him. The steady stream of impacts kept him upright for some time, dropping to his knees and then his face only after the volley of firing had stopped. On screen, the audience applauded wildly, and simultaneously all around the prison compound, the inmates joined in, whistling and cheering. To even criminals like them, Tarrant knew, this was an unprecedented victory for the Federation; a major cause for celebration.

Though not everyone in the compound joined in on the revelry, there was no one who participated less than Vila and Tarrant.

Afterwards, Vila did not say anything and the longer he was silent, the more Tarrant wished he would speak. The news had cheered many of the inmates, but Tarrant knew such merriment would not last long. Once the triumph wore off, Tarrant suspected they would remember that the only two still living people from that broadcast were sitting in the middle of the prison compound with them.

“We should probably make ourselves a bit scarce,” Tarrant suggested.

“What’s the use?” Vila replied.

“You’re not serious!” Though the broadcast had finished, Vila still stared at the wall where it had been and Tarrant studied his profile. “They’re liable to rip us apart once they all come back to their senses. It would seem reasonable not to be out here like sitting targets when they do.”

Vila merely shrugged. “Might as well be them in here than the firing squad out there.”

“What difference does that make to you _now_?” Tarrant countered, growing irritated. “You thought Avon was dead before. Having confirmation doesn’t change anything.”

“It does for me,” Vila stated.

“He _killed Blake_. In cold blood, if you’ll recall.” The words did not make Vila flinch, like he had hoped they would. “Don’t you think that he got what he deserves?”

“Shut up, Tarrant,” he snapped.

He didn’t mind the anger. At least anger was a reaction. “It’s Tarrant now, is it?” He got to his feet. “What happened to Del?” Off the bewildered expression Vila gave him, Tarrant said, “What, I thought you _wanted_ to die. Isn’t that what you were implying? Blake’s gone and Avon’s gone, boohoo, woe is me? _Poor little Vila_. You might as well give up. There’s nothing for you out there anymore. No one else to leech off or annoy. No one left to put up with your uselessness and nightly inebriations. Might as well end it all in here, without even trying. Isn’t that right, Vila?” 

It was clear the words were hurting Vila and that he was struggling over how to respond before folding in on himself and utterly deciding not to. That wasn’t surprising. What was surprising was how saying those things hurt Tarrant, too.

It didn’t help that Tarrant had stopped believing in most of what he was saying, either.

But that wasn’t something he felt he could say. It was much more effective to use the familiar insults to get a rise out of Vila. To what end he didn’t know. Neither of them had any sort of escape plan. The hopelessness of their situation didn’t mean he could stop trying though. Even if all it did was keep them alive until the firing range, Tarrant was determined to fight for it.  
\--

That night, Tarrant slept lightly. If a mob of angry men came for them in the night, there was nothing Vila could do to stop them. The inmates seemed to respect Vila’s physical claim on him, but if they were out for blood, none of that would matter. As a result, Tarrant kept his wits about him, waking every time someone shuffled around the compound or coughed too loudly.

When Vila began to inch himself off the bed a few hours into the rest period, Tarrant feigned sleep. If Vila was trying to slip away to use the toilet without waking him, Tarrant wasn’t going to let on that he had been woken. It was that Vila stopped and put his day wear clothes and shoes on that gave Tarrant pause for thought. He wouldn’t have protested the shoes—the toilet was notoriously poorly maintained—but the daywear clothes were unusual. In the few times Tarrant had seen Vila slip away in the night before, he been in his dressed down nightclothes.

Lying flat on his back once Vila had gone, Tarrant stared up at the ceiling above him. He went over the events of the day in his head—the broadcast, the way Avon’s face hit the concrete when he finally fell, the cheers from the inmates, Vila deconstructing the string figure flock of birds. He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He very clearly pictured Vila’s blank face after the news broadcast had ended, and how hard it had been to get him to react, even with the insults, afterward. 

Sighing, Tarrant reached for his shoes. It was probably nothing and in that case Tarrant could relieve himself and crawl back into bed without comment. On the off chance there was something amiss, though, he wanted to have no regrets. Pulling his shoes on gave him pause, as something very strange was stuffed down the left one. He extracted it and in the dim light it took him several seconds to realize the thin bit of metal was Vila’s lock pick.

It hadn’t been accidentally dropped there, he knew. It was an intentional placement, and it took only a second longer to register why Vila would give Tarrant the lock pick in such a roundabout way. “Damn it,” he hissed. Abandoning his shoes entirely, Tarrant hurried out of their alcove, hurriedly looking around the compound for any sign of Vila.

Not seeing him, he made for the showers, as that was the only place with any real privacy in the entire compound. “Vila?” he called loudly, not caring if it woke up or disturbed any of the other inmates. “Vila, are you in here?”

There was no answer, but then, he hadn’t really expected one. In the shower room, he began pushing open the doors, but none revealed Vila. When the last door had been opened to show an empty stall, Tarrant found himself at a loss. It was then that he heard the metallic ring of a shoe hitting the bowl of a toilet.

Spinning around, Tarrant stalked into the adjacent room, which was lined with toilet stalls, none of which had doors. It did not take but a glance to spot Vila standing on one of the toilets. He had somehow secured one end of his shoelaces to a narrow metal ventilation grill in the ceiling and predictably tied the other end around his neck. One hand held the edge of the stall and the other was fingering the knot at his throat.

When Tarrant stepped into view, Vila’s eye flashed in the darkness, fixing on him. “Go back to bed, Tarrant.” He sounded dangerous.

“Vila,” Tarrant began, uncertainly. He had thought it might come to something like this, but actually seeing Vila there, poised on the edge of the toilet ready to jump, struck him a lot harder than he had anticipated. “Vila, come down from there.”

“Shut up.” His tone was dark, determined. “You can’t tell me what to do anymore. This is _my_ decision. Me, making a choice for myself. No more following orders. No more relying on other people. No more worrying about someone else. I’m tired of it, Tarrant. I’m just so tired of trying and not making a difference; of just making it worse. So, go back to bed. This is just a dream you didn’t have.”

“You must have mistaken me for someone else,” Tarrant said, stepping forward. “If you think I’m going to just walk away from you now, after all we’ve been through together, you’re a bigger fool than I thought.” He took another step. “Come down, Vila. I’m not about to let you hang yourself.”

Saying it straightforward like that seemed to jolt Vila out of his reverie. A flicker of fear glimmered now in Vila’s eyes. It was easy to see that Vila’s resolve had not been very strong to begin with; even suicidal, Tarrant could see he didn’t _want_ to die. 

“I’m just tired of waiting for it,” Vila whispered finally. “Tired of always expecting to be killed, always bracing for it. I just want it to be over with.”

Comfort was not one of Tarrant’s strong suits and he knew it. “You know I’ll just cut you down if you try it,” Tarrant said practically. “And if I’m a bit slow you’ll turn into one of those brain damaged invalids, on life support forever. You don’t want that, surely.”

In the darkness, Vila’s eyes glimmered, but he held Tarrant’s gaze. “Just let me go,” he pleaded.

“Not a chance,” Tarrant said. “If you want to die so badly, then let’s at least make it worth our while. We could try to mount an escape, you know.”

“And go where?”

“Does it matter? We’d be free.” He closed the distance between them, now close enough he could reach out and touch Vila if he wished. “I wouldn’t run you off, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He smiled. “At least not right away, at any rate.”

After a few seconds of reflection, Vila closed back down again. “It won’t work.”

“It doesn’t have to,” Tarrant countered. “At least we’ll have _tried_. Come on.” Putting a hand against the stall wall, Tarrant carefully stepped up onto the toilet with Vila. “I ought to leave this on so I can tie you to the bedpost at night. Now I’m going to worry every time you slip away.” Once balanced, he began deftly untying the knot.

“Worrying about me now, are you?” Vila replied quietly, resting a hand against Tarrant’s side to balance himself. “Must be going up in the world.”

“Try and not let it go to your head,” Tarrant said, unable to suppress a faint smile as he pulled the lace away from around Vila’s neck. For a few seconds, they stood there together, neither saying anything at all as the intensity of the moment faded.

Seconds later, they stepped down together, leaving the lace dangling there. It wasn’t a win and Tarrant knew the danger was far from over, but it was a start. As he followed Vila quietly through the slumbering compound back to their alcove, Tarrant determined so long he still had breath he would let nothing happen to Vila in this place.  
\--

When the lights were turned on, Tarrant felt like he had only just shut his eyes. As there was no routine to follow and breakfast would not be served for at least another hour, he didn’t bother moving. It was only Vila getting to his feet and wandering off a few minutes later that got him out of bed at all.

The compound was coming to life around them, and Tarrant ran a hand through his tangled mess of hair as he caught back up with Vila. Unless Vila did, he wasn’t going to mention last night.

“You don’t have to follow me, you know,” Vila said somberly.

“That’s an opinion you’re certainly entitled to have,” Tarrant replied.

For the time being, as the inmates were waking up, no one was paying them any mind. Tarrant wondered if that would last the day or, if after everyone had inhaled their protein and swallowed their synthetic coffee, boredom would bring them around. If it happened, Tarrant hoped he would not wish he had joined Vila last night, instead of dissuading him.

Putting a hand out, Vila said, “It’s like the calm before the storm.”

“I feel it too,” Tarrant agreed. More fully awake now, Tarrant reached into his pocket and pulled out Vila’s lock pick, palming it in his hand so no casual viewers could see it. He stepped closer to Vila and placed it into his upturned palm. “Perhaps we should begin planning our escape.”

Accepting the pick without looking at it, Vila dropped his hand to his side and slipped the tool away. “I was on a prison ship like this when I met Blake, you know. Not as nice as this place, actually. Eight months it took us to get from Earth to Cygnus Alpha.”

“How did you manage to escape back then?”

“Blake came up with a plan.” Vila’s eyes scanned the ceiling. “Old converted freighter we were on, then, not a big, fancy prison transport like this. There were these maintenance shafts running along the length of the ship, sealed off only by crudely constructed hatches. Took just a little sleight of hand to distract the guards while Avon crawled through to the computer room. Once in, he opened all the ship doors. Didn’t work though, you know. Got a bunch of innocent men killed, it did.”

“You were en route for Cygnus Alpha,” Tarrant retorted. “I’m fairly confident that means not a single one of you were innocent men.”

“Still not a pleasant way to go.”

“No,” Tarrant agreed. “In the end though, you did escape. With _Liberator_.”

“Yeah.” Vila scratched at the whiskers on his neck. “Don’t reckon _that_ ’ll ever happen again.” He nodded his head at the exit. “Don’t even expect we’ll even get past that door without a two-guard escort.”

“It will have to take place at night,” Tarrant said, matter-of-factly, ignoring Vila’s pessimism. “Possibly with the aid of some of the other inmates. We won’t be able to trust them, of course, but it isn’t like we have a choice. There are a lot more of us than there are guards. Even with rifles, our sheer numbers should eventually overpower them.”

“Providing we aren’t both killed in such a skirmish, then what? Could you even fly this ship if you got control of it?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions, Vila. Of course I could.” Stepping aside, Tarrant moved to one of the tables further from the center of the room, and leaned against the end of it. “Depending on where we are, we can just land somewhere and empty the ship. Saving everyone else ought to earn our skins some value and protection. After that, it’s just a matter of stealing ourselves another ship, which shouldn’t be a problem with your lock picking and thieving skills.”

“It all _sounds_ very nice,” Vila said contemplatively. “ _Then_ what?”

“What do you mean, ‘then what’? Then we’re free.”

“That’s it? We just roam the galaxy, trying to outrun the Federation?”

“Why not? I’m the best pilot there is and you’re a very talented thief.”

At that, Vila stared at him. “Now I know I must be dreaming.”

“I didn’t used to think so, but Avon said it in one of his more lucid moments. On occasion, I’ve been inclined to agree with him. Granted, I’ll take it back if you can’t steal us a ship.”

“Wait, _Avon_ said I’m a talented thief?”

For a moment, Tarrant just looked at Vila. There was skepticism in his eyes at such a statement, but also _hope_. It was strangely warming. “Yes. It was . . . back when you were down on,” Tarrant paused, trying to recall the planet’s name, “Keezarn, wasn’t it?” It wasn’t easy to reflect upon all that. It seemed so long ago, when things still had a habit of going _right_. “Avon actually threatened me, after you went down, you know.” He decided to not quite reveal the truth; he didn’t want Vila assuming he was being nice now because of something Avon had said years ago. “He said pilots were easy to replace while talented thieves were not.”

The look of wonder on Vila’s face at the statement prompted Tarrant to ask, “He never let you know he appreciated you, did he?”

“No.” After a moment’s reflection, Vila said, “Not in public, leastways.”

It was a leading statement, but Tarrant decided, at present, he didn’t want to know more about it. Perhaps he would ask later, when they were safely off the prison ship. “So, are we agreed then?”

“Just you and me? “

Tarrant flashed Vila one of his sunniest smiles. “Is my company really all that bad?” To his delight, Vila grinned back despite his depression, and Tarrant thought that it even reached his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

Tarrant quietly made plans with Vila throughout the course of the rest of the day. They paused to watch the news report and then broke apart after the dinner meal to begin testing the interests of the other inmates. Keeping on the move also helped prevent them from being targeted from the broadcast the day before. There were many who glared and told them to get lost, but several expressed mild interest.

 _If_ something were to happen many of them _might_ help out. It was, Tarrant knew, as good as they were going to get in a place like this. In its own way, the broadcast lent them credence. It told the inmates that they had been through a lot and had won against some very impressive odds. It also told the others that they had very nasty executions coming up, and thus were much more likely to actually attempt the escape than other prisoners who were just being transported.

By evening, Tarrant thought the whole thing actually had a very small chance of working. As he sat down on the bed slab beside Vila, Tarrant said, “I’ve managed nearly a dozen probablys.”

“Got seventeen myself,” Vila said cheerfully. “And three yeses.” His face fell a little. “And about fifty, ‘Go fuck yourselves,’ but who’s counting those?”

“Seems you’ve some fans out there.”

“Not really,” Vila said. “Just some fellows who were really _not_ fans of Bayban the Butcher.”

“Well, nevertheless, that’s helpful.” 

“Fortuitous, really,” Vila said. “It’s a big galaxy. Imagine three guys who hate Bayban that much, in one quadrant? And in with the guy who killed him?” 

“I met him once too, you know. He _was_ notorious. Anyway, you’re taking credit for it now, are you?” Tarrant raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I am while I’m in here. It’s getting results!”

Another day, Tarrant might have tried to counter his statement, but not now. It had been a very long time since he had seen Vila like this. There was a spark in his eyes, a smile tugging his lips. He had a purpose and a goal. It was almost like last night had never happened.

“You know, I think this crazy plan might just work after all.”

To Tarrant’s delight, Vila beamed up at him. “It might. Avon’d be proud.”

Tarrant snorted. “Well, doesn’t that just make it all worthwhile?” 

Tarrant leaned against the wall the bed was pushed up against. Despite his good spirits, he felt uneasy. Bolstering Vila’s morale had been too easy. If this failed, and Tarrant was not kidding himself for a moment that it might not, Vila would crash hard. If they weren’t killed in the course of the escape, it might just prove to be the last ray of hope Vila would let himself believe in.

That night, Tarrant slept with a protective arm around Vila and tried to not let himself dream of the future.

Only mere hours later they were rudely awoken and forcefully dragged out of bed. At first, Tarrant thought it was an inmate attack—the one he had been anticipating all day, held off until the quiet, early hours of the morning when the guards were lazy and the darkness made details fuzzy. Hearing Vila cry out in pain broke a reserve within him and he lashed out viciously, blinded by sleep, but unwilling to let this happen—unwilling to let it happen to _Vila_.

It wasn’t until the cold metal of a Federation blaster rifle rammed into his gut and doubled him over that Tarrant realized it wasn’t the prisoners ganging up against them at all.

Someone had narked.

No less than five armored guards were involved in hauling them unceremoniously to their feet, to shackle them there in the middle of the prison compound. The noise woke many of the other inmates, who watched surreptitiously from their beds and cots as he and Vila were marched out, hands on their heads. There was not even a chance to properly dress, their shoes and clothes left behind. Vila was shirtless and the loose fitting top Tarrant wore did little to protect him against the ship’s cold corridors.

“Where are you taking us?” Tarrant demanded, haughtily as he could.

“No talking!” one of the guards said, punctuating the statement with a rifle butt to his side.

Tarrant only caught Vila’s attention once the entire journey and it did not reveal much. His eyes had been blank and cold; Tarrant hoped it was from lack of sleep and not loss of hope.

When at last they arrived, it was not at a firing range or an execution chamber. It wasn’t even an isolation ward, like Tarrant had hoped. The stark white walls, barren of anything save an ominous metal contraption in the center of the room, told Tarrant exactly where they had been taken: another Federation torture chamber. 

“Well, it was worth a try.” Vila sighed.

“Shut it!” the guard demanded.

They wasted no time in getting started.

It was much worse with Vila there. That was undoubtedly the point, but it didn’t make it any easier for Tarrant to listen to his friend’s screams of pain when the torture was directed only on Vila. It didn’t make it easier to hold out, either, when they finally started asking questions.

“The location of the other rebel bases!” one interrogator demanded.

“The names of the rest of your accomplices!” the other asked.

Each silence was rewarded with increasingly more painful forms of torture. It was horrible, least of all because Tarrant knew they had machines that could simply _extract_ the information, if they really wanted it. The physical torture was ultimately unnecessary.

It only took three hours for their interrogators to realize that torturing Vila affected Tarrant more than actually torturing _him_ did.

“I’ve told you everything I know,” Tarrant gasped. His head was pounding, his eyes swollen shut. His arms felt like they had been filled with lead and ripped off his body and blood ran in thick rivulets down his chest. Though his back was to Vila, he knew they both had to be in a similar condition. “What more can you possibly want?”

“What information do you have on the insurgents of Horizon?” someone asked.

“I’ve told you!” Tarrant cried. “I don’t know even what you’re talking about!”

For his supposed insolence, they hit Tarrant with such a powerful wave of pain that he momentarily blacked out. When he awoke, it was to Vila calling his name.

“Tarrant! Tarrant! Come on, you stupid pompous git! Wake up!”

“Vila?” For the briefest moment, Tarrant thought he had dreamed it all and they were safe, back in the bed in the prison compound, and Vila was playing protector again. But his eyes were still swollen, his body still throbbing in pain. 

“About time, you lazy bastard,” Vila snapped. “I might’ve known you’d be useless in here.”

“What?” Struggling through the fog in his head, Tarrant tried to make sense of what Vila was saying. His tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth, his words slurred. “In case it’s slipped your notice, we’re being _tortured_.”

As if to emphasis the point, the controller flipped a switch that ran an electric charge through their bonds. It was different than the more physical torture they had been enduring since the beginning, but even more effective and excruciating. 

“Guess a pansy little Alpha like you has never been properly tortured before,” Vila said, when it had subsided. “Might’ve known. You’re a blubbering wreck.”

“I’m not,” Tarrant retorted. Despite the pain, Tarrant found himself growing irritated with Vila. “What’s got into you?”

“I’m stuck in here with you, of all people! You’ve the pain threshold of an infant!”

“That’s rich, coming from _you_!”

“Silence!” one of the interrogators ordered. “You will answer the question!”

“Sod off!” Vila yelled. “We don’t know anything about Horizon! Too bad you killed Avon, you slimy bastards. Couple days of this, you might’ve got an answer out of _him_!”

Pain ripped through Tarrant again, deep and penetrating right down to his toes. He heard someone screaming and realized after several seconds it was _him_. It was so intensely overwhelming his grip on sanity felt like it was slipping away. 

Desperate, Tarrant began to talk. 

The pain had become too much and the questions too unanswerable, so he just unloaded. Everything and anything that had been remotely significant in his life poured out: his uncle pulling strings in the Federation to get him into Space Academy early; his brother leaving home, disgusted with family politics; their father’s alliance with some of Earth’s corporate elite; his mother’s liaisons with powerful, dirty-handed politicians. His own indiscretions at Academy and in Space Fleet came out; the cold eye he had turned on underhanded dealings; his role in the Andromedan War; his deflection from the Federation and murder of Federation troopers. 

Most of it, he knew, could only please them. He had been a model citizen, until war devastated the Federation and gaining control of _Liberator_ had changed his priorities. His family had done horrible things, but had done them in the name of the Federation. It was only since joining up with Avon that he had earned himself a truly disreputable record.

And the interrogators cared for none of it. They wanted the names and places of current rebel activity, not minor infractions committed by his parents nearly two decades ago. It didn’t matter though—Tarrant had been unable to stop talking for while he did they _listened_ instead of inflicting more pain. Through it all, Vila had remained silent.

When his throat finally ran dry and the pain in his head became too much, Tarrant succumbed again, slipping into the false bliss of unconsciousness.

“Tarrant!” Somewhere, Vila was yelling at him. “Tarrant! You worthless son of a bastard! Wake up! Tarrant!”

He could only groan.

“You’re pathetic! A joke! An inbred Alpha fairy! And one sorry excuse for a pilot!”

The last one actually stung. “Vila,” he grated, between his teeth. “ _Shut up_.”

“I’d like to see you make me,” Vila hotly replied. “You can’t even hold that stupid head of yours up anymore! Too full of ego, I’m sure. Don’t see me having that trouble.”

“You are _insane_ ,” Tarrant rasped. He felt feverish and he was shaking. He had lost track of time and his vision was swimming, the black clad interrogators blurring in and out of focus. 

“I’m not the one babbling about my childhood.”

“So I haven’t been tortured as often as you have,” Tarrant venomously snapped. “I hardly consider that a personal flaw!”

“The people you’re betraying might disagree!”

What Tarrant was going to say in reply to that was cut off as another jolt of agony ripped through him. This time, he heard Vila screaming alongside him and that made the suffering that much worse, as he could do nothing to stop it. If only they would get it over with; if only he could just die instead of blacking out again.

The next time, they injected him with a stimulant to awaken him. 

It worked fast and was very potent, quickening his pulse and twisting his guts. He gagged once before trying to heave and having no success. The guard administering the drug wore the standard uniform of a Federation trooper, mask and all. It was the first full-fledged trooper Tarrant had seen since their arrival at the prison and in the stark white room it seemed wholly incongruous. As Tarrant strained against the bonds, the guard placed a hand on his chest and gently pushed him back against the rack he was strapped to.

As his head lolled to the side, Tarrant suddenly realized he was alone.

“Where’s Vila?” he rasped, tightness gripping his chest. The words came out thick and muffled and he could only roll his eyes around to look for his friend. The blinding brightness of the room did not help his vision, and only made the pain in his head intensify.

“He’s safe for now,” the guard answered, stepping aside.

With the view cleared by the guard moving, Tarrant saw the interrogators had been dismissed and that Vila was now laid out on a stretcher, tended to by woman dressed in black. It took only a second for Tarrant to register what he was actually seeing. “A mutoid?” he asked, brows furrowing. Trying to think through the pain was horrible, let alone talk. “What . . . what is she doing to him?”

“Monitoring his vitals,” the trooper said. “Now that you’re awake, we can transfer you, too.” He reached down and began to disengage the clamps that held Tarrant up. It was unexpected and when the support was gone, Tarrant’s knees immediately buckled. He would have slid right to the floor if the trooper hadn’t caught him and helped him on to another stretcher alongside Vila’s. 

The pain of movement was almost worse than the torture itself had been. Once Tarrant was laid out and secured in place, the mutoid turned to him. “This should help the pain,” she said, tilting his neck to inject him with something.

“What—“ Tarrant began, but felt his body overcome with an instant numbness. It was a relief from the pain, but the panic it created in his mind was unsettling. Worse, he could feel his senses succumbing. Why had they awoken him, just to sedate him?

“How long have we got?” the trooper said.

“Twenty-eight minutes,” the mutoid replied.

“Good,” the trooper answered. “We had better get—“ But whatever it was they needed to get, Tarrant missed as the drug did its work and once more he was robbed of his senses.  
\--

“It’s another six hours from there,” a man was saying. “That should give us enough time, though they’re worse off than I had feared. We’re very lucky they aren’t dead.”

“Very much longer and they might have been,” a woman replied. “We also have no idea what degree of psychological trauma they’ve gone through. I told you we should have brought a doctor.”

“Tarrant seemed coherent enough.”

“We can only hope. They were in that hostile prison environment for over a week. There’s evidence to suggest that Tarrant at least experienced some forced—“

“I don’t want to know. I can imagine. I’m going to check the flight path again. Let me know if their condition changes—for better or worse.”

Keeping perfectly still and regulating his breathing, Tarrant waited until the sound of the man’s footsteps receded away before he cracked his eyes open—and cracking them was all he could do. The pain was greatly diminished, and he could feel—and partially see—a bandage wrapped around his brow, but the injuries had not gone away.

The mutoid woman was seated between his stretcher and Vila’s, checking over some statistical readout on a medical machine beside him. Though he hadn’t seen the man, he could assume it had been the trooper from before, and that none of this was as it had seemed. Around him, the walls hummed and he recognized he was on some kind of smaller ship. He opened his mouth to demand what was going on, but all that came out was a low groan.

“You’re awake!” the mutoid said, turning to him in surprise.

Trying again, Tarrant managed a feeble, “Where?”

“You’re safe, now,” she said, reassuringly. Her face was pleasant to look at, open and clear. She did not, besides her apparel, resemble the mutoids Tarrant had encountered during his time with the Space Fleet. “Both of you,” she said, turning to include Vila in her statement.

Shifting his eyes, Tarrant took Vila in. Stretched out unconscious, he thought Vila looked wretched. The week’s worth of stubble did little to hide the pallor of his skin or the dark circles under his eyes. He too had been bandaged and his wounds dressed, but it was clear he had suffered. Very likely more than Tarrant had suffered. 

“You,” Tarrant said before his voice broke.

As if remembering herself, the mutoid brightened, rose and poured a glass of something bright green. “Here, drink this,” she said, returning to help him sip it. 

After he had managed half the glass, he sighed and said, “Ah, soma.”

“Mixed with adrenaline, yes,” she smiled. “I was told—“ She shook her head. “Never mind. More?”

Never one to say no to being attended by a pretty woman—even if she was dressed-up like a mutoid—Tarrant gave her a weak smile and said, “Yes, please.”

When he had finished the glass, he felt considerably better. The pain in his head was diminished and his tongue felt like it properly fit in his mouth again. “You’re not a mutoid,” he stated.

“No,” she agreed, monitoring Vila’s vitals. “It’s a disguise.”

“To break us out of the prison.” At her nod, Tarrant said, “Why?”

“You would rather be sent for execution on Earth?”

“Of course not. Are you part of the rebellion?”

“Yes. I thought that would be rather obvious.” 

“It would seem,” Tarrant said. “Only, somehow I thought the rebellion would be a little angry with us as well these days.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion, but before she could ask what Tarrant meant, Vila groaned as he regained consciousness.

“Where am I?” he asked, his voice raspy. Then, slightly more panicked, he called, “Tarrant?”

“I’m here, Vila.” With some effort and considerably pain, Tarrant sat up so he could see Vila. The relief in Vila’s eyes upon seeing him made Tarrant smile brightly despite how much it hurt to do so. “You look like hell.”

“Says you.” Vila’s eyes flickered to the woman in the mutoid disguise. “Hello, pretty lady,” he said, clearly not fooled. He even managed a smile.

“Hello,” she replied, smiling back. “You’re both in good spirits. This is such a good sign. We had worried the torture would have damaged you more mentally.” She rose to fetch Vila a glass of adrenaline and soma, and as she did, Tarrant caught Vila’s eye behind her back. With just a glance he could tell Vila was in a lot of discomfort and pain, but that he was _all right_. They were both all right. It was an amazing relief.

“We’re just grateful to be alive,” Tarrant said, following her movements with his eyes.

When the woman pressed the drink into Vila’s hand, his eyes lit up. “Is this adrenaline and soma?” He took a healthy drink, his eyebrows rising in delight as he did. “Oh, now, see, this I could get used to, Tarrant. Served beverages in bed by a beautiful woman. Look, didn’t even have to get dressed up for it,” he said, gesturing to his lack of shirt.

Obviously charmed by Vila, the woman just smiled for a few moments before shaking her head as if realizing something. “Now you’re both awake, I have to let Blake know.”

Vila, in the middle of another gulp, sprayed soma all over himself.

She had pressed an intercom on the wall and said, “Blake? They’re both awake now.” At Vila’s reaction, though, her face fell. “Oh, I should have realized. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s all right.” Vila wiped his mouth with the blanket he had been covered with. “It’s a common enough name, after all.”

Tarrant wasn’t so fooled and seconds later when the footsteps in the corridor resolved to reveal Blake dressed in a Federation trooper uniform, he smiled knowingly. “I had thought the voice sounded familiar.”

“Blake!” Vila cried, struggling to sit up. 

Only, it wasn’t Blake. At least, it wasn’t the Blake Tarrant had met back on Gauda Prime. This man was trimmer and still had both his eyes, for one. He seemed to carry himself in a different manner, too.

“Hello, Vila,” Blake said.

“I can’t believe it!” Vila said brightly, joy transforming his tortured face completely. “It’s you. It’s really, really you! Boy, are you a sight for sore eyes! What happened?”

Although Blake seemed pleased, Vila’s enthusiasm was not quite returned. “My name is Roj Blake,” he said. “But I must apologize; I am not the man you once knew.”

“What?” 

The way confusion crumpled Vila’s brow dug at Tarrant and he found himself growing fiercely protective. It was a dirty trick, springing this upon them without first giving a warning. “You’re a clone,” Tarrant stated, confidently. Blake’s dark eyes fixed on his, but Tarrant didn’t flinch. “We knew you were out there, somewhere. It was in the files, all hushed up. We never talked about it, but we all knew, in the back of our minds.”

That Vila hadn’t yet considered it was a clone was obvious. He was clearly still struggling with the concept. “You’re . . . “

“Tarrant is right,” Blake said. “I was created by the Federation’s Clonemasters a little over two years ago, in the image of Roj Blake.”

“I remember now,” Vila said. “You sent us a message, after that whole deal with Imipak. Blake never did let on who it was down there tipped him off. Didn’t hear about the clone until later, though.”

“He and Jenna were the ones who came back a few months later, to rescue us off the planet.” Blake gestured to include the woman in the mutoid disguise. Once addressed, she moved to stand beside him. “This is Rashel, my wife.”

Though Tarrant had expected something like that, he saw Vila’s eyebrows practically lift off his head. 

“We’re very grateful to you both,” Tarrant said, aware that he was processing all of this considerably easier than Vila was. “Just where are we headed, now? And what do you expect of us?”

“We’re headed for Earth,” Blake said, “via the Mellicon Solar Orbiter, where we will stop first, to rendezvous with the others and to get you both additional medical help. Our ETA is about four hours and twenty-six minutes.”

“Earth?” Tarrant raised an eyebrow. “That should be the last place we want to go.”

“It’s where they’re holding Avon,” Blake said. “You would rather he were left there?”

“It would serve him right,” Tarrant said, darkly. “My days of risking my life for his are well over. You had better be careful too. Wearing that face, he’s liable to shoot you and _then_ ask questions.”

“All life is precious,” Blake stated, directing his hard gaze back on Tarrant, his voice cold. “Even his.”

“Bit late for that. Avon’s dead,” Vila said numbly. “Saw the execution on the prison vid and everything.”

“You saw what they wanted you to see,” Rashel corrected. “A cleverly done mock up to make you think he had been executed. Our Earth Intel informs us he is still very much alive, in a Federation prison and under heavy guard.”

“Why would they do that?” Tarrant asked. “Why publicly kill a man just to keep him alive in secret?”

“The dead don’t talk,” Blake explained. “He is effectively a nonentity, now. He doesn’t exist. As a result, they can do whatever they want to—or with—him.”

“And we’re just to trust you on faith?” Tarrant asked skeptically. “If the Federation made a clone of Blake once, what’s to stop them from having done it again? This could all be an elaborate trap.”

“Break us out of a top security Federation prison transport ship headed for Earth so they can fix our wounds and . . . take us to Earth?” Vila said, staring at him. “Doesn’t even make sense, Tarrant. Besides, the Clonemasters were all killed. That’s why Servalan was so interested in the Auronar.”

“You do not have to go with us,” Blake stated. His gaze shifted, to include Vila as well. “Neither of you do. The extent of your injuries may prevent you from being any use to us anyway. We can only spend a maximum of twenty-four hours at the Essoh. If you are not recovered, or choose not to go with us, you may stay behind at that point.”

“You mentioned meeting up with others. What others?” Tarrant asked.

“Your associates Dayna and Soolin.” Before Vila could protest, Blake said, “Also not dead. They were being kept in a smaller transport, for female prisoners. As Vila is the only surviving crew with knowledge of Blake, it was deemed appropriate that Rashel and I head this team.”

Sitting back, stunned, Vila said, “I must be dreaming. Everyone’s coming back from the dead. We’ll have to look up my mum, next.“

“You’re not dreaming, Vila,” Blake said. “You’ve all done too much for the rebellion to stand idly aside while the Federation crushes you. Getting you to safety is the least we can do.”

“Can’t say I’m complaining,” Vila said.

Feeling weariness creeping back into him, Tarrant slumped back down. “Avon needs help, Blake,” he said. He could remember all too well the way Avon had just stood there, staring down at the real Blake’s body back on Gauda Prime. The sirens, the swarming troopers, the apparent deaths of his comrades . . . Tarrant had called to Avon, tried to get him to run, but he hadn’t moved. It was very much like he had finally snapped. “He may prove more trouble than he’s worth.”

“That is for me to decide,” Blake said.

“Think it’s for _him_ to decide, actually,” Vila said.

Shifting his gaze back to Vila, Blake said, “And if he decides it isn’t worth it? You expect me to let him take his life?”

“It is _his_ to take,” Vila stated.

Though he had brought it up, Tarrant did not want to see this progress into an argument. “We can make that decision when we arrive at it.”

For a moment, it looked like Blake was going to argue. Then, seeming to think better of it, he nodded. “You’re right.” He took a few steps back. “As I said, we should be arriving at the Mellicon Essoh in a little over four hours. I recommend you both rest up as best you can until then.” Turning to Rashel, he said, “Call me the moment you need anything.” His eyes swept back over them before leaving.

Tarrant knew when he was being scrutinized. What did the man think they were going to do in their condition? Tie her up with their bandages and sit on her?

“I should let you rest. I’ll just be in the forward cabin,” Rashel said, dimming the lights. “Is there anything I can get you before you go?”

Tarrant shook his head, but Vila cheerfully said, “A little more of the ol’ A&S wouldn’t hurt.”

When they were alone again and Vila was contentedly sipping his drink, Tarrant said, “And to think you were ready to take your life a few hours ago.”

For a long time, Vila didn’t say anything. Then, softly, he said, “Our escape plan didn’t work.”

“Don’t get hung up on semantics,” Tarrant said. “We’re free.”

Vila gave him a funny look, but said nothing. After finishing his second glass of adrenaline and soma, he bedded back down, pulling his blanket over his shoulders. “Seems a nice girl, Rashel.”

“Yes.” Deciding he might as well rest too, Tarrant followed Vila’s lead, curling on his side to face Vila’s bed. It was strange to lie on a soft mattress in a quiet room without fear of being awoken by prisoners or guards. There were several things on his mind, but he pushed them aside. “Try and get some sleep, Vila.”

“You too,” he said.

Tarrant lay there for a while, watching Vila as he drifted off. It was easy to see the very moment he fell into proper sleep by the way his breathing changed and the little jerk he made, like he was falling. After a few minutes of watching Vila, Tarrant rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. Avon was alive and they were planning to go to Earth to rescue him.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.


	4. Chapter 4

The Mellicon Solar Orbiter was a large complex that had been out in space nearly a century. It was the oldest of the Solar Orbiters and as a result, the most run down and neglected. Situated between Earth and Venus, it was on an orbit that took it around the sun in Earth-like style. It was little more than a fancy space station which had been built as a research center for a potential Dyson sphere and abandoned when the project fell through.

Now it was a way station for all sorts of cargo vessels flying in and out of Earth.

It was a bustling spaceport and some of its seedier areas were perfect for the anonymous to meet.

If you knew where to look though, the medical aid was top notch. Tarrant and Vila were admitted to a rebel-sympathetic facility and seen almost immediately. Their wounds were dressed and mended. After hot showers and a shave, both Tarrant and Vila were given regenerative salves on the worst of their wounds and Vila even had a dermal mender pack adhered to his chest for a few hours. 

They were given a joint room with two standard hospital beds—luxury compared to the narrow prison slab—and free range of the ward. It was a lower level facility in a slum area, though the interior of the hospital was very clean and nice. Vila busied himself with reading the Federation filtered news while Tarrant flipped uninterestedly through different entertainment magazines.

Before too long, the ward shut down for a rest period, and though Tarrant wasn’t particularly tired, he decided to try to sleep. It was the best healing aid in the world, or so they sometimes said.

Vila sat up reading for a while longer, and Tarrant rolled onto his side to look over at him. He was just in time to catch Vila yawning, bathed in the tawny light from the reader, the only illumination in the room.

“Come to bed, Vila,” Tarrant said. “It’s all processed Federation news, anyway.”

“I’m good at reading between the lines,” Vila said, turning the computer off, though he left the reader light on. “Sometimes you get people on the inside sending messages, too.” Tarrant gave him a skeptical look and Vila protested. “Well, you do.”

“It’s unlikely you’re going to break a super genius code tonight,” he said. “And there isn’t much else you can do for the rebellion if you don’t heal up first.”

“All right,” Vila said, smiling faintly. 

He rose to his feet, walking over, and without thinking about it, Tarrant scooted over. When Vila crawled into his own bed seconds later, Tarrant had to stifle the surprise that gripped him. Of course Vila would sleep in his own bed. There was no reason to share one here. What was he thinking? It had only been a week they had been in prison together. What the hell had got into him?

“Quiet, isn’t it?” Vila said. Though he whispered, his voice sounded loud in the room.

Feeling irrationally unsettled, Tarrant punched his pillow into shape. “A pity, really. Nothing to drown out your snores tonight.”

Though Tarrant had said it with his usual venom, Vila only smiled, taking it as a joke. “You never complained before,” he said.

“Go to sleep, Vila,” Tarrant snapped, rolling over, frustrated.

There was a long period of silence, though Tarrant knew Vila wasn’t asleep or even trying to sleep. He didn’t have to turn around to feel eyes on his back, though he did his best to ignore them. He was weary. He could force himself to fall asleep, if he could stop his heart pounding. Letting Vila get to him was not an option.

“Could move over there,” Vila said into the silence. “If you want.”

Vila’s voice was far too loud in the quiet and made Tarrant twitch. The statement was even more unsettling. Vila had read him and he didn’t like at all what that said about him. Though some part of him wanted to say yes—knew even if he didn’t answer and merely scooted over that Vila would join him—he refused to acknowledge it. After a few seconds, he again said, “Go to sleep, Vila.”

This time, he was fairly sure Vila did. Unable to sleep himself, Tarrant stayed up, staring at the far wall until the timer on the reader went off, casting the room into darkness.  
\--

The following morning, after Vila and Tarrant were patched up and fed, they went back out onto the lower level promenade to meet up again with Blake and Rashel. Their wounds were far from perfectly healed—there were still scrapes and bruises and soreness in areas that would last for days—but the improvements physically were remarkable. 

Tarrant doubted he would quite ever be _mentally_ sound again.

“Vila! Tarrant!”

Spinning around, Tarrant’s eyes widened seeing two familiar faces in the thoroughfare.

“Dayna!” Vila cried, just as exuberantly. The way his face lit up, Tarrant felt it seemed he were being reunited with his long-lost best friend instead of just Dayna. Vila launched himself at her and she flung her arms around him, spinning them a little with the momentum.

Tarrant put his hands into his pockets—they had both been given fresh clothes—and managed a smile. Beyond Dayna, he saw Soolin, standing just as unassumingly as he was. While their companions hugged and made a public spectacle of their reunion, Tarrant found himself mirroring her.

“Hello again, Soolin,” he said coolly. 

She merely nodded her head in reply.

“We thought you were dead!” Dayna exclaimed, gripping Vila like she couldn’t believe he wasn’t going to fade away on her. “We had these awful news reports in the compound,” she said, turning to include the distant Soolin in the conversation. “They showed us Avon’s execution and then said two of his four remaining associates had been killed earlier. Well, we knew it wasn’t _us_!” 

“We saw the same thing!” Vila said, stunned. “Only me and Tarrant thought it had to be you and Soolin! Your photos were there, with this awful red color over them, like blood red for dead, you know. And ours—“

“Were kind of grayed out, like you’d already been eliminated!” Dayna finished. “That’s a nasty trick on us! And Avon too!”

Annoyed at all the gaiety, Tarrant pursed his lips. “Imagine that, being forced to watch the same Federation tailored prison news report, designed to fool us all,” he said. “And we all fell for it!” he mocked, matching their cheery tones. “My, what good times!”

“I see you haven’t changed a bit,” Dayna said, suddenly cold.

Her words made him bristle, least of all because she was wrong. “And _you_ haven’t asked how I am to know.”

“I was saying hello to Vila, first,” Dayna pointed out. 

Ignoring them, Tarrant addressed Soolin. “Have you any more information than we do? Blake’s got himself a clone and a wife and the idea generally seems to be a suicide run to rescue Avon.”

“You know more than we do,” Soolin admitted. “Avon’s alive?”

Her words made Dayna and Vila stop their reunion. “According to Blake, he is,” Vila said.

“Avon’s alive and Blake’s got a _clone_?” Dayna asked, bewildered.

“Who doesn’t?” Tarrant said. “It’s all the rage, these days.”

“Enough of that, Tarrant,” Vila said seriously. “According to Blake, the Federation staged Avon’s execution. Must’ve dressed someone up in his leathers for the broadcast. Poor sod.”

“I thought he did look a bit funny,” Dayna said contemplatively.

“And now they’ve got a dead man on puppet strings,” Soolin surmised thoughtfully. “Won’t be a pleasant experience for him, that’s for sure.”

“The Federation will have a field day picking his brain over,” Tarrant agreed, trying not to be upset that Soolin knew right away what the Federation would do with Avon while he had to be told. “I guess we owe him our lives. Again.”

“They patched you up well,” Vila said, admiring Dayna’s stomach where she’d taken the blast back on Gauda Prime, as if he hadn’t just been patched up from his injuries himself.

“Lucky for us they were all carrying stunners,” Dayna said.

“Unlucky for Blake that Avon wasn’t,” Tarrant countered.

“Come on, Tarrant,” Vila said. “Now isn’t the time.”

After last night, Tarrant bristled at the way Vila kept treating him now—like they were _equals_. Vila’s casual change in addressing him was not escaping Dayna or Soolin’s notice, either. “Oh, of course, Vila. I mean, _Master Restal_. I forgot I needed a by-your-leave.”

“What’s got into you?” Dayna asked, staring at him.

Before Tarrant could reply, Vila calmly said, “You get knocked down a few pegs, when you spend any time in a Federation prison. Tarrant’s still getting used to life on the outside again. He’ll be all right in a day or two.”

“Adept at psychoanalysis now, too, are you?” Tarrant snapped, quite irritated. “I suppose next you’ll be curing Avon of his psychosis? Bit late for that though, really.”

Ignoring him, Vila said, “So who broke you two out, then? I didn’t know anyone else cared.”

“Some old friend of yours, Vila,” Dayna said glancing behind over her shoulder. “Should be here soon.”

Almost as if on cue, Blake and Rashel appeared, approaching from further down the thoroughfare, accompanied by a handsome young man and a beautiful blonde woman. “Speak of the Devil,” Tarrant said, admiring the woman.

“ _Jenna_!” Vila cried, running over to them.

Though it was clear the woman was not prepared for it, Vila enveloped her in a massive hug which practically knocked her off her feet. After a few seconds, she returned the embrace, her detached expression warming slowly. They were speaking, but Tarrant was too far away to hear them. He was still irritated from the earlier conversation. This was not the sort of reunion he wanted. He wasn’t even sure he liked any of these people anymore.

Standing perfectly still, Tarrant watched as Vila approached with the others. Only when they were close again did Vila begin the introductions.

“This is Jenna Stannis, everyone,” he said, a hand still clamped affectionately on her shoulders. “Best pilot this side of the galaxy.” Tarrant’s eyes flashed, and he gave Vila a scowl. “She’s got a couple years on you, Tarrant, and you can’t argue with that face, can’t you?”

She was, Tarrant had to agree, very attractive.

“Jenna,” Vila continued, “this is Dayna, Tarrant and Soolin.” Turning, he gestured to Blake and Rashel. “Blake you might recognize. Explained that a bit already, so I won’t go into it, and this is his wife Rashel.” There were cordial greetings all around, and then Vila turned to smile at the young man that had accompanied Jenna. “And this is Bek,” he said. “His sister saved my life once.”

Up close, Tarrant thought Bek wasn’t much of a man. He was shorter than Vila and considerably younger. It was very probable even Tarrant was older than him, and he seriously doubted Bek had half the experience he did. There was something off about him too, a creepy darkness that seemed to float around him. It made Tarrant instantly not trust him, despite his friendly smile.

“Blake told me you were dead,” Tarrant said to Jenna, after the introductions were over. In response to her stunned reaction, Tarrant said, “I met him. On Gauda Prime, that is, before Avon got carried away.”

“You might be careful about what you say when you’re in public,” Jenna coolly stated, meeting his eyes.

“We have a secure room for our meeting,” Blake said, gesturing. “It’s this way.”

Jenna held Tarrant’s gaze a few moments longer, then turned and stalked off in the direction Blake had pointed, all without looking at the cloned man. She was a most remarkable woman, Tarrant thought, even after just that brief encounter. It was a shame she looked like she wanted nothing more than to crush him under her boot heel. 

The room Blake had picked out for their meeting was the dimly lit storage area of a general store. The owners were sympathetic to the rebellion and agreeable to such meetings, so long as they were small. It all reeked of a Federation trap to Tarrant, but he followed them anyway—it wasn’t as if he had much choice, at present. The option to walk away from it all hadn’t yet been given.

The storage room was empty save for a few crates and a table with six mismatched chairs. Letting everyone seat themselves, Tarrant found himself left standing alongside Soolin.

“So now that we’re all safe and cozy,” Tarrant began somewhat mockingly, his eyes on Jenna, “do enlighten me as to why Blake thought you were dead.”

The glare she fixed him with was powerful. “Blake was testing _everyone_ ,” she said. “But as you believed he was really a bounty hunter and had betrayed _Avon_ , I am not surprised you were taken in by that lie.”

Not swayed by her cool demeanor, Tarrant said, “And now we simply take you at face value, too? You mock us on one hand for believing Blake’s lies and with the other tell us to trust that what you’re now telling us is truth?”

“I don’t care what you believe,” Jenna said. “I’m here to form a plan to get Avon out of the Federation’s hands, using whatever means necessary.”

“It’s that bad, is it?” Vila said. His voice seemed unnaturally quiet against the timber of Tarrant's and Jenna’s.

Softening slightly as she redirected her gaze, Jenna said, “Avon knows too much. If the Federation picks his brain, they’ll learn things Avon doesn’t even know he knows. He’s a loose end that needs to be contained, no matter the cost.”

“And whatever means necessary,” Vila repeated, his tone gone flat. “Wouldn’t have picked you for the revenge type, Jenna.”

She held his gaze for several seconds. “You’ve changed, Vila.”

“Hadn’t noticed, myself,” he said, unwavering. “Sure you don’t want to just launch a missile at the installation base? Might be kinder.”

The idea had merit, Tarrant thought, brows lifting. “He could be right, you know.”

“Shut up, Tarrant,” Vila said, not taking his eyes off Jenna. “I’m not going to let you kill Avon without giving him a chance.”

“We might not have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” Vila said. “Just don’t pull the trigger.”

Clearing his throat, Blake said, “So I take it to mean you want to be in on the mission.”

Vila kept his eyes locked on Jenna’s for a few moments longer before finally pulling away to look at Blake. “Yeah. Not one I want to stay and man the base for.”

“You can count me in too,” Dayna said. “You never know what other _old friends_ we might run into down there.”

“Been living on Earth the last six months doing reconnaissance, me” Bek said. “Got myself a really good working knowledge of the complex we believe Avon is being held at and will be happy to be your guide.”

“Bit too high profile for you, eh?” Vila said, eyes on Blake.

“You’re not going with us?” Dayna said, surprised.

“Vila is right,” Blake said.

“I could get used to that,” Vila cut in.

Blake gave him a stern look and continued. “Not only am I too high profile, we have got to take into consideration the variables for things that could go wrong. As it is Avon we’re rescuing, it is probably best I am not part of the team that gets him.”

“And safer,” Soolin said. 

“Yes,” Blake said, shifting his eyes to her. “For everyone involved.” Glancing back, Blake said, “It is good you’re going, Vila. He will trust you most.”

“You should tell him that,” Vila said.

“He knows you and Jenna,” Blake said. “No matter what psychological trauma they may have done to him, having the both of you there should help.” His eyes drifted up, between the rest of them. “Dayna of course will be of help too. Tarrant? Soolin?”

Crossing her arms, Soolin said, “There isn’t enough money you could pay me to join a raiding party attempting to infiltrate a high security facility on Earth. Maybe if you had a teleport, but this? To rescue Avon? It’s suicide. You’d do better launching a missile and burying your dead, like Vila said.”

“Soolin!” Vila cried dismayed, twisting in his chair to stare up at her.

“You’ve got too many going already,” she added. “If he is still alive, Avon will understand.”

“ _I_ don’t understand!” Vila said. “He would go back for _you_. He’d _lead_ the mission!”

“He wouldn’t, Vila, and you know it,” Tarrant said. “The Avon you knew is gone. The sooner you learn to live with that, the sooner you can get on with the rest of your life.”

Anger flashed over Vila’s face and in an instant, he was on his feet, rounding on him. “That’s why he cracked, Tarrant,” Vila said. “You all wrote him off. No one cared about him. He was . . . You don’t have any idea what it’s like to see how he’s changed. He fell apart and no one even _noticed_. No one cared or tried to do anything. It’s like he was screaming out for attention and no one heard.”

“Except you, is that it? Vila, Avon’s special little friend?” It felt good to hurt Vila like this, and Tarrant didn’t want to think why. “Only you didn’t help either, did you?”

“He had already figured out how to cut me out,” Vila said. “But at least I _tried_.”

“More like gave up,” Tarrant said. “Drinking yourself stupid each night to sedate yourself. Made the nights less lonely, perhaps?”

“Leave it, Vila,” Dayna said, giving Tarrant a dirty look. “He’s already made up his mind.”

“And of course you’re utterly blameless, aren’t you?” Tarrant countered, angry.

“Enough,” Blake said, getting to his feet. “Tarrant, I take it this means you’re not going?”

“I’m not feeling particularly suicidal today, no.”

“Good. We can’t have this kind of arguing on the mission.” Addressing Jenna, Blake said, “It will just be the four of you then. More manageable than we had anticipated.”

Jenna got to her feet as well, her eyes darting between Tarrant and Vila. At last, she turned back to the issue at hand. “We have gear and weapons in those crates,” she said, nodding her head. “So let’s get kitted up. I want to head out in an hour. It’s a six hour flight from this Essoh to Earth. I will explain the plan on the way.” Her eyes found Soolin. “Our people have to communicate with us on a private channel during the mission. We need someone to man this base while we’re away. Are your fees open to negotiation?”

Tilting her head contemplatively, Soolin said, “I believe we might be able to come to some arrangement.”

“Good, I’ll speak with you in a minute.” Her eyes moved back to Tarrant, looking him over, but though he straightened expecting to be addressed and given some duty, her eyes just passed him over. “You decide what to do with him,” she said to Vila.

The rest of those at the table drifted off. Blake and Bek began breaking open the crates, and in the background Tarrant could hear Dayna exclaiming to Rashel over the quality of the weapons. Jenna pulled Soolin aside, and that left Vila alone with Tarrant.

“Maybe you’re right,” Vila said, not meeting his gaze. “Maybe Avon has changed. Maybe this is all a gamble that’s never going to pay off. Been there, though, and done that. Got a lot more at risk this time too. It’s worth it, to me, to try. I’d rather regret trying than regret not trying.”

It was a crude apology and Tarrant didn’t know what to make of it, least of all because he had been the one doing the insulting. Perhaps if he had a week he could figure things out, but right now he just wanted Vila to leave him alone. “I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for,” he said, aware any kindness in the words was lost in the nastiness of his tone.

“I’m coming back, either way,” Vila said confidently. He tried a faint smile, but Tarrant wasn’t having it. “Can’t get rid of me that easily.” After seeing the smile wasn’t melting Tarrant, Vila’s face fell. “Will you be here when we return?”

It would have been so easy to say no; to walk away from all of this for good. As much as he had hurt Vila though, he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t leave. “So you can gloat and say ‘I told you so’?”

The smile returned. “So you do think we have a chance.”

Tarrant resisted returning the smile very successfully. “I’ll be here,” he said, deciding only in that moment that it was true. He would wait. “Though I might not stay.”

“That’s enough. It’s good to have someone to come back to. Especially if . . . if things don’t work out right.” Vila’s eyes lifted finally, meeting Tarrant’s.

Meeting Vila’s gaze was harder than Tarrant had expected it to be, and he didn’t understand why. “Go rescue Avon,” he said, preparing to move off. All of this was making him feel uncomfortably vulnerable. “You always did care more about him than the rest of us.”

He walked away from Vila then, leaving him to decide just which way to interpret that statement.


	5. Chapter 5

Almost as soon as Jenna lifted off with her ship, Tarrant regretted staying. It wasn’t that he had changed his mind about Avon or missed Dayna or Vila, merely that waiting and worrying were not beloved pastimes for him. He preferred to be out in the thick of the action rather than having to wait to discover the results when it was all over.

Worse, he had erroneously assumed the rebels were going to put him to work alongside Soolin, doing something useful. They didn’t. After the meeting broke up, they left him on the thoroughfare in front of the general store with no means to contact anyone—or even find out when the others got back. He began to wander aimlessly through the market stalls, feeling sorry for himself. It was only sheer coincidence that he ran into Blake throwing empty crates into a recycler nearly an hour after Jenna had departed with the others.

“Blake, wait!” Tarrant called, hurrying down the street after Blake had finished dumping his rubbish.

“I am a bit busy right now,” Blake tersely said, although he did stop.

“Yes, I do realize that,” Tarrant replied. “I was hoping I could help.”

The skeptical look Blake gave him did not endear Tarrant to him at all. “I thought you weren’t interested in that sort of thing anymore.”

“What, a man can’t reconsider? Anyway, I may not fancy risking my life for Avon anymore, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be of help. You’ve paid to put Soolin to work. Surely there’s something useful I can be doing for free.”

“You could try not getting in my way,” Blake suggested, stepping past him. He was not headed back to the general store, so Tarrant assumed he had to be heading to the ‘base’ he had heard Jenna speak on.

Falling into step beside him, Tarrant said, “I can’t imagine you would go through all the effort to rescue me just to shuffle me off so soon after.”

“You seemed to make it fairly clear you didn’t want to be involved in this operation,” Blake said. “We’re not going to force you into anything.”

“You’re not forcing me. I want to be useful.”

“So do we all.” Pausing, Blake looked him over and Tarrant tried to ignore the pity in his eyes. “All right. I think I may be able use your help with something. Providing you can keep your mouth shut and your eyes open.”

The job Blake assigned him required neither silence nor good vision. Tarrant knew Soolin was checking incoming communications from Jenna and the others and he had expected to be doing something similar. So why Blake put him in the makeshift mess hall stirring soup for lunch instead was beyond him. The only comfort he took was the knowledge that the whole operation was so small that if _he_ hadn’t been preparing the meal everyone would have had cold ration bars as there was no one to spare to cook. It gave him very little satisfaction, but he did his best to focus on the positive.

After thirty minutes, Blake came into the kitchen, carrying a large box of fresh produce. “I thought we could put together a few meals now to serve later. I doubt anyone will much feel like cooking when the others get back, and rations aren’t exactly good for morale.”

It was easier not to make a snide remark than to get into an argument, so Tarrant just nodded. “How long is the rescue projected to take?”

“Less than twenty-four hours, if it goes to plan,” Blake said, unloading piles of real, fresh vegetables as he emptied the box. “That’s including a twelve hour round trip to and from Earth as well as relocating on the planet. It’s intended to be a very quick in and out operation.”

The news was heartening; it meant Tarrant only had to wait one day, whatever the outcome. “I'm a little surprised you’re so keen to help the rebels,” Tarrant said, continuing to stir as he watched Blake cut up the produce. “And I would think Jenna would resent you.”

“For living when her Blake died?”

“Something like that, yes.”

For a while, Blake didn’t reply as he chopped. Finally he said, “I’m sure it is not easy for her. Losing Blake has not been easy for _any_ of us. But the three of us were . . . friends before all that happened. I trust that she and I will manage to be friends after, as well.”

“She means to get revenge.”

“No. I would not be supporting her if she did. Killing Avon will not bring her Blake back, and she knows that. Nor will it solve anything. From Vila’s reaction, it will only make dissent within the rebellion’s ranks worse, which is completely counterproductive to what we’re trying to achieve.” He added some of the vegetables to the pot Tarrant was stirring. “I don’t condone death, Tarrant. Not even those serving the Federation. All life is precious. You cannot condemn a drugged man for doing what his society has raised him to do. Everyone deserves a chance at redemption.”

“Noble thoughts like those have got a lot of good men killed,” Tarrant said.

“It is the _only_ way to win this war,” Blake stated decisively. “Not with more fighting. Not with more causalities. Fighting fire with fire may eventually burn it out, but it leaves only a trail of devastation in its wake. There is no point in winning if there are no survivors left to enjoy the victory.”

“Peaceful protest, then?” Tarrant asked. “History hasn’t smiled much on that sort of thing.”

“Achieving victory by means of more death is not victory at all!” Blake said. 

Stiffening at the outburst, Tarrant realized he was protesting this Blake’s _belief_ , not an opinion that could be swayed. “Of course,” he replied. The soup was now simmering, so Tarrant turned down the heat. “War hasn’t been very successful after all, has it? Why _not_ try something different? I just hope it works.” He sighed. “The redeemed seem to have a nasty habit of relapse.”  
\--

At the evening meal, Tarrant found Soolin again, which was more of a relief than he had anticipated. “Mind if I join you?”

She looked up at him but did not say anything. Smiling in the face of her indifference, Tarrant settled down across from her.

Spending two years on a relatively small ship with people he had grown quite accustomed to made it difficult now for Tarrant to be on his own. The clone of Blake seemed nice enough, but Tarrant didn’t know him and had no desire to get into a potentially heated political debate with him. After a year together, he realized he barely knew Soolin either, but they at least had shared experiences together, and he felt relatively comfortable around her. At least they were in this together.

“You could try smiling,” he said, unfolding his napkin. “At least you’re being paid.”

“Why haven’t you left yet?” she replied without looking up.

About to grab the salt, Tarrant paused, then said, “I told Vila I would wait. Seems I owe him that much, at least.” When she raised her eyes to look at him, Tarrant felt the need to explain. “He can be useful sometimes. He’s not all drunken stupor, you know.”

“Are you justifying that to me or yourself?” 

“Don’t act like you’re his defense now,” Tarrant returned. “You despise him as much as I do. “

“I despise liars and people with false confidence,” Soolin replied. “Vila may be useless with a blaster, but he has never claimed otherwise. He is, at least, consistent.”

“You’re implying that I’m not?”

“Merely that I doubt your motives more than his. There’s no love lost between any of us; between you and Vila least of all.”

“He helped me out on that prison ship,” Tarrant said coldly. “And he asked me to wait. It seems like the least I could do to return the favor. There is no ulterior motive.”

“You’re not the first person to ever be raped in prison,” Soolin said, causing Tarrant to stiffen in shock, “nor the first to form an unhealthy attachment to someone in there with you.”

“It’s not like that,” Tarrant stated.

“Vila has enough of his own problems,” Soolin forged on. “And he’s going to have his hands more than full with Avon when they get back. What he doesn’t need is to be expending energy trying to take care of you, too.”

“Now see here!” Tarrant hotly began.

“No, _you_ see,” Soolin countered. “I don’t know what happened in there between you two. I don’t _want_ to know. But we’ve had three transmissions from Jenna’s party since they left and Vila’s asked about you and _only_ you on all three. He’s worried about you while he’s on a dangerous mission when he ought to be worried about taking care of himself. Simply put, I don’t think you’re worth it.”

“It’s been lovely catching up with you too, Soolin,” Tarrant snapped, throwing down his spoon. “Why do you even _care_ if he gets himself killed because he’s foolish enough to be distracted worrying about me? You’ll still get your precious money, which is all you seem to care about these days. That I’m staying so he has someone to come back to instead of because they’re paying me to says a lot more about you than it does me.”

“You’re assuming he is coming back,” Soolin said. “You’re assuming his distraction doesn’t get him killed.”

“I’ll deal with that if comes to it,” Tarrant replied. Picking his spoon back up, he added, “Anyway, I’m sure he’ll be much more concerned about Avon than me when they rescue him.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Frustrated by her attitude when he had just wanted some companionship, Tarrant said, “What did I ever do to _you_?” 

Soolin viciously stabbed her fork into the remains of her food. “Maybe it’s just because you’re the one that flew us to GP. Maybe it’s because you crashed _Scorpio_. Maybe it’s because you’re the only one here. Maybe I’m just angry with myself for not telling Avon off when I had the chance.”

“Get in line,” Tarrant said. Sighing, he added, “I did try, once, you know. He had a blaster in my gut before I even finished my sentence, and that particular plan of his got Cally killed and our ship destroyed. We could all see it was a terrible idea, yet I have no doubt he would have killed me just to get his way. Killed all of us, even, and gone through with it alone. It wouldn’t have done us any good then, and it wouldn’t have done any good before Gauda Prime, either. What Avon wants Avon gets.”

Beside him, Soolin remained silent, pushing her food around on her plate.

It was easy to fall into reverie as he ate, and after a few minutes of quiet contemplation, Tarrant said, “I don’t suppose we’ll ever be able to go back to how we were.”

“That was true the moment we destroyed Xenon base.”

“So why haven’t you left? We both know there’ll be no happy reunion to look forward to. Surely you could get a better paying job than this.”

“You keep assuming I’m in it for the money,” Soolin said. Leaning back in her chair, she added, “Which is surprising, considering you know how much Avon paid me.”

“Nothing at all,” Tarrant said. “At least, as far as I know.”

“Nothing at all,” Soolin agreed. “Maybe I’m just a rebel at heart.”

“I don’t know that I can be anything else anymore,” Tarrant said suddenly. The thought had just occurred to him. “I certainly can’t go back to the Federation after this.”

“We cling to what’s familiar,” Soolin said, putting her fork on her plate and rising to her feet. “Even when it is corrupt and destroying us.”

Aware she was leaving, Tarrant said, “I don’t _mean_ Vila any harm.”

She leveled him with one of her icy gazes and replied, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

That night, Tarrant slept alone. There were no personnel quarters at the base and he had no money to his name at all—everything he owned had been destroyed with _Scorpio_ —so they put him up on a cot in an empty store room. It was colder and darker than the prison compound had ever been, without even the presence of other inmates in similar discomfort to settle him.

His mind kept returning to Vila, wondering where he was and what he was doing. Had they arrived on Earth yet? Were they now attacking the base? Had they rescued Avon? Had shots been fired? Had Vila been hurt--or worse—killed? Perhaps they already had Avon in custody and were beginning the six hour journey back to Mellicon. It was even possible Vila was lying awake on the ship, worrying about _him_. 

It was stupid for Tarrant to have decided to stay behind. If something had gone wrong with the rescue, he would never forgive himself for not going.

After hours of restlessly lying awake in bed, thinking on things he couldn’t change, Tarrant gave up and threw off the blankets. He didn’t exactly know where the communications room was, but he was determined to find it. If he was going to stay up all night thinking about Vila, the least he could do was to stay up monitoring their incoming transmissions. Perhaps once he knew they were safely on their way back, he could rest.

The makeshift base was not big and he found what he was looking for relatively quickly. Soolin must have been off duty, as the only occupant was Rashel. The lights in the room were dimmed, but a computer screen bathed her face in soft blue light. She wore a headset to monitor transmissions, but turned when he opened the door.

“Tarrant. You should be resting,” she said with a kind smile.

“Oh, I’m sure it’s tea time somewhere,” Tarrant replied. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.” She nudged the other chair out from the desk it had been pushed into. “I could use some company. It gets very quiet here at night.”

“No word from Jenna and the others yet?” Tarrant asked, settling down beside her. There was an extra headset, which he picked up, and after adjusting the size, he slipped the band over his head. Flipping the headset on, he was rewarded with soft static.

“The last transmission we got was when they touched down. I doubt we’ll hear from them again until they’re well clear of Earth.” She smiled reassuringly. “That’s a good sign though. Any sooner than that and we might have a problem on our hands.”

“How long ago was that transmission?” Tarrant asked, trying to calculate how long it would be before they got another.

“About three hours,” Rashel said. Brightening, she added, “Vila asked about you.”

It was hard not to smile at that; Rashel, at least, had no preconceived notions about him like Soolin did. “Did he sound all right?” he asked in as neutral a tone as he could manage.

“To be honest, he sounded a bit worried.”

“Well, that’s Vila for you. Nerves keep him on his toes.”

Smiling reassuringly, Rashel said, “I’m sure he’ll be all right. Jenna knows what she’s doing.”

“It’s Avon’s reaction I’m more concerned about,” Tarrant said. He adjusted the volume on his headset slightly, before leaning back in his chair. It was cold in the communications room, but at least he felt slightly more useful. “How long do you think it will be until they radio back in?”

“Probably not for another two or three hours,” Rashel said. “Probably not until their return descent. We don’t want anyone tracking them back here. Of course, we’ll keep the station monitored the entire time.”

“Of course.” Tarrant watched the tracking figures scrolling by on the monitor. “Do you mind if I stay and listen with you? I can’t sleep anyway.”

“Not at all,” Rashel said.

It was pleasant to have someone to sit with, and the soft static from the headset created a comforting white noise. He didn’t realize that he’d fallen asleep there in the chair until a burst of sound awoke him sometime later. As he jolted upright a blanket someone had draped over him slid to his lap, and he came fully awake.

Jenna’s voice came over the headset, loud and clear. “Genesis this is Pegasus. We are less than one hour out from arrival. Please have Asclepius standing by. Repeat, Genesis this is Pegasus. Arrival time in less than one hour. Asclepius needed immediately. ”

The transmission cut off abruptly. While Tarrant blearily tried to figure out what all that had meant, Rashel was busy typing something into the system. All he knew was that Jenna’s voice had sounded uncomfortably strained. 

“What’s Asclepius?” Tarrant asked. 

“Code for a doctor,” Rashel said, not looking at him as she keyed instructions.

Tarrant gritted his teeth. It was probably for Avon, he told himself, but all he could think was that this time Vila hadn’t asked about him; Vila hadn’t said anything at all.  
\--

An hour had seemed like an insufferably long time to wait to find out how the mission had gone, but Jenna’s ship was touching down almost before Tarrant had finished changing into something fresh. He grabbed a piece of toast from the galley on the way out.

The streets were quiet and calm, which completely went against the pounding of Tarrant’s heart and the throbbing in his head from lack of sleep. He followed Blake and Rashel to the port, where they met with one of the doctors Tarrant had met with the day before. They arrived just a few minutes before the landing hatch deployed. Jenna was the first to step down, followed by a rolling stretcher.

Blake started forward and instinctively Tarrant grabbed him. “Do you really think that’s wise?”

It took a few seconds for realization to dawn on Blake. “Perhaps you’re right.”

Leaving Blake safely behind him, Tarrant, Rashel and the doctor hurried to help Jenna. Drawing in a breath, Tarrant prepared himself for an injured Vila, and let it out seeing Avon’s waxy face instead. He was unconscious and laid out, looking wretched. His chest rose and fell with labored breathing, and Tarrant couldn’t see any sign of external injuries, which was certainly better than the vidshow execution had suggested. Rashel and the doctor instantly moved to Avon’s side, guiding the stretcher away. 

“Vila?” Tarrant asked, meeting Jenna’s eye.

She gave him a hard look, only turning her gaze up the hatch at the sound of more footsteps.

Vila appeared, hurrying after the stretcher, his gaze unwavering. He shuffled right past Tarrant without even seeing him and instantly grabbed the doctor’s arm and began speaking to her intently.

It was something of a blow to Tarrant, and the relief he wanted to feel that Vila was uninjured was overtaken by a strange, unexpected wave of jealousy. “What happened to him?” Tarrant asked through his teeth.

Before Jenna could answer, Bek came down the hatch. “Everything’s fixed up here. We got a six hour clearance window, then I gotta move the ship.” He raised the ramp behind him, locking the ship up.

Crossing her arms, Jenna nodded. “All right. Get some rest, Bek. You deserve it.”

He nodded and started past. Following his departure, Tarrant realized Vila and the others had already left with Avon, presumably taking him to the rebel sympathetic medical facility. Without thinking, he started after them.

“Tarrant,” Jenna called. “Wait.”

Turning back, he saw her expression had changed. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “It didn’t go well, Tarrant. We arrived too late; they were waiting for us.”

“But he’s _alive_ ,” Tarrant said. “I just saw him.” He gestured in the direction the stretcher had gone.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

He stared at her long and hard for several seconds. Then, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Straightening his shoulders, he said, “Where’s Dayna?”

Jenna’s gaze did not soften. “Dayna didn’t make it, Tarrant.” 

His teeth clenched to withstand the blow. The sudden tightness in his heart was almost unbearable. It was like losing Zeeona all over again; like losing Deeta. “What happened?”

“There was a fire fight. She held them off single handedly while we got Avon out of his flat. Vila and Bek managed to knock Avon out and get him onto a stretcher and out the way we came while Dayna and I gave cover fire. Someone got in a lucky hit. A very lucky hit.”

“And you just left her there?”

“There wasn’t time.”

“So you don’t even know if she was dead.”

“She was dying.” Jenna’s voice was cold. Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew a chain with a gold pendant on the end of it. Tarrant recognized it immediately as the one Dayna always wore. “She told me to give this to you.” She picked up his hand and placed it in it. 

“So she was well enough for talking,” Tarrant said, struggling to fight down emotion. “You could have taken her with you.”

“She told me to run, Tarrant. She smiled through her pain and she told me to run.” Jenna’s gaze on him was hard. “So I ran. I barely got back to the ship when half the complex went up.” She stared up at him, and Tarrant knew exactly what Jenna meant. “She took out half a platoon of Federation troopers in the end and secured us enough pandemonium for our escape. She died a hero.”

“And of course that makes it all better,” Tarrant said bitterly. Jenna had suddenly gone out of focus and he didn’t dare try to do anything to sharpen the image.

Jenna was silent for a long time, not rising to his hostile tone. After a few seconds, she said, “I’m sorry, Tarrant. She was a wonderful girl.”

“Yes. A remarkable woman,” he said.

“I have to report to the others.” Letting out a deep breath, she said, “Avon’s in bad shape. Once the shock wears off, I’ll need help with Vila.”

“Vila?” Tarrant said. Jenna turned her back to him, giving Tarrant time to blink and palm at his eyes.

“He was her friend too. It hasn’t hit him yet.”

“Of course.” Tarrant took a deep, controlling breath. “I’ll do everything in my power to help him.”

When she turned back, Jenna’s eyes seemed to have softened. “For once, I actually believe you mean it.”

Soon after, he found Soolin waiting outside Avon’s room when he arrived back at the medical facility. Although Tarrant had assumed Jenna would accompany him there, he had arrived alone. Through the glass window, he could see Avon laid out on a bed, his condition unchanged. Vila sat on a chair nearby, his head in his hands. As far as Tarrant could tell, there was no doctor present.

Soolin stood with her arms crossed, her gaze on Vila through the window. “The doctor says there’s nothing to do until he wakes up.”

Tarrant’s heart was too heavy for all of this. “Dayna’s dead.”

That brought Soolin’s head around, though her expression remained unchanged. After a few seconds, she said, “That was always a possibility.” She resumed her observance.

“Don’t you even _care_?” Tarrant demanded. “She might have lived if one of us had gone, you know. Vila and Bek aren’t fighters, and Jenna’s just a _pilot_.”

“It’s too late to change that now,” she replied.

Her indifference infuriated him. It was how Soolin always was, and perhaps she was grieving inside, but all Tarrant saw was the cold, unyielding exterior. “Out of my way,” he said, opening the door. At least Vila would understand.

Soolin put a hard, restraining hand on his arm. “He said he wants to be alone right now.”

Though the door had opened, Vila hadn’t moved, head still in his hands. Tarrant sneered and pulled his arm out of Soolin’s grip. “Then you don’t understand Vila at all.”

She let him go, and the door swung shut behind him.

“Go away, Tarrant,” Vila said at his approach, his voice dead.

Tarrant spied another chair nudged under the medical desk and dragged it over, settling on it beside Vila. Directing his gaze on Avon’s slumbering form, he said nothing, trusting his presence alone to do more than anything he could possibly say would.

After ten minutes of tense solitude, Vila quietly said, “Tell me it’ll be all right.”

Finally giving into the urge to touch him, Tarrant put an arm around Vila’s shoulder, drawing him close. He kept his eyes on Avon, and though he didn’t entirely believe it himself, he said, “It’s going to be all right, Vila.”


	6. Chapter 6

“He’s been adjusted.”

“What?” Holding vigil beside Vila, Tarrant shook his head to clear his wandering thoughts.

“Avon,” Vila said very quietly. “He didn’t recognize me when he saw me.”

Baffled, Tarrant couldn’t form a reply. He was saved when seconds later, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Looking up, he was just in time to see the doctor from earlier as she entered. 

“No change?” she asked without preamble, stepping close to Avon to monitor his vitals. “We may have to artificially stimulate him, then.”

Shaking his head clear, Tarrant said, “Is that wise?” mostly out of the need to say _something_.

The doctor looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. “I’m under strict orders to get him as functional as possible within twenty-four hours so he can be moved to a safer location. I can’t make any sort of diagnosis until I know what I’m dealing with. He has to be awake for that.”

“Will it hurt him?” Vila asked. The sadness in his voice earlier had gone, replaced with a detached calm.

“Hard to say. It shouldn’t, but we don’t know what they’ve done to him.”

“Torture?” Tarrant suggested.

“It’s not been physical, if they have,” the doctor said. Moving away, she prepared some medication and transferred it into a slender tube.

Tarrant got his feet. “Maybe we shouldn’t be here when he wakes up.”

“Actually, familiar faces should help. We know he’s had neural-processing. In order to counter that, he’ll need to see things from his past.” She injected him with the stimulant. After a few moments, Vila stood up as well.

“Should I get the others?” Tarrant asked.

“Let’s not overcrowd him,” the doctor said, putting a hand to Avon’s wrist to count his pulse. “This should only take a few minutes.”

It did take only a few minutes, but to Tarrant they felt like hours. Vila stood silent beside him, and the only sound Tarrant could hear was the pounding of his heart in his ears. He had encountered many mind-altered people in Space Fleet as well as out of it, but the thought of Avon opening his eyes and not recognizing any of them was chilling.

After what seemed an eternity, Avon let out a low, ragged groan and his eyelids fluttered open. “Where am I?” he croaked.

The doctor propped the medical bed up quickly and then fetched Avon a glass of some bright green drink; Tarrant guessed it was likely adrenaline and soma, though he doubted it would be as effective for Avon as it had been for him and Vila.

Avon drank it with none of his usual scorn, putting a hand to his head afterwards. He winced as if in pain, and then opened one eye to focus on the rest of them.

“Hello,” Vila said.

Avon’s gaze sharpened, narrowing in a familiar way. “You kidnapped me,” he accused. “Where am I?”

“You’re in a hospital,” Tarrant said, deciding that making Vila deal with this was probably not going to be good for his already weakened morale. “We’re here to help you. I . . . my name is Tarrant. This is Vila and Dr. Morse.”

“Avon,” the doctor said, and Avon responded to his name, looking at her warily. “Do you remember where you were before this?”

“I was working on the Aquitar project. On level twelve,” he clarified.

“How long have you been on that project?” Morse asked.

“Ten years and six months,” he replied automatically.

“Have you ever heard of the rebel leader Roj Blake?”

One of Avon’s eyes twitched slightly. “You are surely not trying to say I would be associated with such a man.”

“Please answer the question.”

His head turned to look Tarrant up and down. “No, and I’m done answering your questions. You can answer some of mine now. Where am I? Why have you brought me here?”

Aware Morse was probably going to lie, Tarrant said, “You’re on the Mellicon Essoh, Avon, and you’re here because Blake was an associate of yours. We don’t mean you any harm, I assure you. We’re here to help.” Morse was giving him a dark look, but Tarrant ignored her. 

“They adjusted your head,” Vila said. “Dunno why, yet, but they took the old Avon out of there and replaced him with this new one that doesn’t remember . . . anything. But you ought to be able to. It’s still locked inside somewhere. Won’t be easy to get out, but it can be done. I’ve had lots of experience.”

“ _You’ve_ had experience in breaking conditioning treatments?” Tarrant asked.

Vila didn’t take his eyes off Avon. “Had my head adjusted more times than you can imagine, Tarrant,” Vila replied coolly. “It’s just another lock to pick. It never took me too long. It’ll be the same for Avon, once he puts his mind to it. You’ll see.”

Eyes darting back and forth between them, Avon said, “This is ludicrous.” Swinging his legs over the edge, Avon tried to stand up and nearly toppled over. Tarrant caught him under the arms and placed him back on the edge of the bed.

“Your body hasn’t yet recovered from the sedative. It should wear off in a few more minutes,” Morse explained. “But I’m going to have to ask you to remain here once it does.”

“I won’t be subjected to such preposterous accusations,” Avon snapped. “I want to speak to a Federation representative. Immediately.”

“They’re not accusations,” Vila said. “It’s the truth. You were born in London Dome, but after you tried to embezzle money from the Federation, they exiled you to the penal planet Cygnus Alpha. There’s where you met Blake and me and . . . and Gan and Jenna.” Vila’s eyes searched Avon’s face for any sign of recognition. “We escaped on a marvelous ship called _Liberator_ and started to fight back against the Federation.”

Seeing none of this was getting through to Avon, Tarrant decided on a different approach. “Where were you during the Andromedan War?”

The question clearly startled Avon, drawing his gaze off Vila to stare up at him in bewilderment. “I . . . I was on Earth, of course.” His brows beetled together. “I was in the dome.”

“Of course you were,” Tarrant said, unconvinced. “Do you remember who won?”

“What do you mean ‘who won’? The Federation, of course.”

“The Federation was in ruins after the Andromedan War. You’re a bright man . . . probably,” Tarrant said. “Even if they had won, the economic hardships would have surely reached even to Earth, wouldn’t they?”

“I don’t pay attention to such trivialities. They don’t involve me.”

“What’d you have for breakfast yesterday?” Vila asked.

“What?” Avon stared at him.

“Breakfast. What’d you have?”

After a few seconds of contemplation, Avon said, “Eggs and toast.”

“You’re sure about that?”

Avon’s glare intensified before fading just a bit. He squinted at Vila.

“What about the day before that? Eggs and toast again, was it? Probably been programmed to think you’ve had eggs and toast for every breakfast in your life.” To Tarrant, he said, “They never were very creative when it came to programming food.”

“Well, Avon?” Tarrant pressed. “An eternity of eggs and toast, is it?”

“Shut up,” he snapped, hunching over slightly. “Leave me alone.”

“We’re trying to help you,” Tarrant insisted.

“I said leave me alone!”

“Come on,” Vila said, touching Tarrant’s shoulder though his eyes remained on Avon, who was now nearly doubled over. “We’ll come back in an hour.”

They only made it to the corridor before they ran into Soolin and Jenna. Both women were standing against the wall, arms crossed.

“How is he?” Jenna asked.

“Practically friendly,” Tarrant said. Seeing Soolin sent a fresh wave of pain coursing through him as he was reminded again of Dayna, and he channeled the grief into anger. “I say we leave him reprogrammed like that.” Within seconds, he had three sets of eyes staring at him. “He’s much happier that way, believe me,” he explained. “He doesn’t remember all the losses that drove him to madness. I can just imagine the sort of burden remembering all at once will put back on his shoulders.”

To his surprise, Soolin said, “You may be right. He may never know it, but the Federation might have done him a favor.”

“They didn’t adjust his head to make his life easier,” Jenna replied coldly. “And Dayna didn’t die so Avon could be a Federation vegetable.”

“Vila?” Tarrant prompted. “You’ve known Avon the longest of all of us. Perhaps you should decide.”

Self-consciously, Vila rubbed at his shoulder. His eyes were far away. “He’s no good to anyone like he is right now. Not even to himself.”

“He must have been of use to the Federation like that,” Soolin said. “They could have taken a brain print by now, if they had wanted to. Why keep him alive?”

Silence descended as they contemplated the potential reasons.

“Some sort of pity?” Jenna suggested.

“Servalan _has_ always been a bit fond of him,” Tarrant mused.

“No,” Soolin countered. “She’s sentimental, but not that sentimental. He wasn’t in a prison when you found him?” she asked Jenna.

“No. They had him in housed in a flat in the Beta quadrant of the city. We waited until he left for work to minimize civilian casualties.”

“Work?” Soolin said, eyebrows rising. “What did they have him doing?”

“They put him back on the Aquitar project,” Vila said. “It’s what he was he was doing . . . before _Liberator_.”

“Just what is the Aquitar Project?” Tarrant asked, recalling Avon mentioning it to Morse.

Jenna and Vila both turned to looked at him. “It’s a program the Federation was working on to develop teleport systems,” Jenna said.

Vila’s eyes widened with realization. “Of course! That’s what they’d keep him around for! He’s been around operational teleports for years now! With the knowledge and working experience they can get from Avon on the _Liberator_ and _Scorpio_ systems, they could probably have an operational one in production within a year!”

“A teleport in every Federation flagship and cruiser in the galaxy,” Tarrant said. “That will make sleeping uneasy.”

“Not to mention a new way to ‘Watch your back,’” Soolin said.

“And your front and your sides,” Vila agreed, unnerved. “You couldn’t hide _anywhere_.”

“Well, now we know why they were keeping him alive,” Tarrant said. “I’ll wager no one in the galaxy has a better understanding of the teleport system than Avon.”

“It’s a good bet they’ve got their hands on Orac by now, too,” Soolin said. 

Into the uncomfortable silence that followed, Jenna said, “I think we’ve just found our next target.”  
\--

“You can’t stand here forever,” Tarrant said, once the others left. 

Vila had taken up post outside Avon’s door, waiting for the hour to end so he could go back inside. “Don’t have anywhere else to go,” Vila said, not looking at him.

“There’s a mess hall. Have you eaten anything recently?” Vila didn’t reply, so Tarrant tried again. “I made sure some of the things were vegetarian, so there are plenty of choices for you.” When Vila still didn’t reply, Tarrant sighed. In a softer tone, he said, “He’ll still be there when you get back, you know.”

At last, Vila looked up at him. He didn’t say anything, but Tarrant knew that Vila would follow him if he left for the mess hall.

In the mess hall, they found Bek halfway through his meal. Vila wordlessly slid into the seat beside him, leaving Tarrant to prepare two plates. He did and set one before Vila, sliding into a seat across from him with his own. Bek had already managed to get Vila talking.

“That’s a lot of work in just two years,” Vila was saying.

Bek gave Tarrant a tight smile as he sat down but kept most of his attention on Vila. “After the Andromedan War, Horizon just sort of fell off the Federation’s radar. They’ve been able to relocate and expand immensely. Ought to all be safe on Horizon for some time, if you go.”

 

“Horizon?” Tarrant asked, looking between the two of them. He remembered all too well being interrogated about some rebel insurgents on Horizon while on the prison ship. “I’m afraid the Federation knows all about Horizon.”

“They know about the part we let them know about,” Bek corrected. “The part they’ve always known about.”

“Are Ro and Selma still there?” Vila asked. “Blake used to wonder a lot about them, after we left.”

“They are,” Bek said with a nod. “They’ve been—“

Tarrant cut him off, staring at Vila. “You’ve been to Horizon, Vila?” He was baffled. “You didn’t say anything of the sort when they were torturing you about it!”

Vila stirred his vegetable soup, his expression one of dejection. “Wouldn’t have done anyone any good if I had, would it?”

“It could have done _you_ some good,” Tarrant protested. “The torture might have stopped.”

“We were dead, Tarrant,” Vila said, lifting his eyes. “Or, as good as. They were going to kill us one way or another. I wasn’t going to give them any information before I died, not even information they might have already.” Calmly, he turned back to Bek. “Continue?”

Bek’s droned on, but Tarrant ignored him as he finished his lunch. The tone of Vila’s voice, the darkness in his eyes, the fact that he had not broken even under torture . . . it was all weighing heavily on Tarrant. Now Avon had been reprogrammed, and there was no clear path to follow. He was fighting to protect Vila and finding at every turn that Vila didn’t need it; didn’t even seem to want it.

The hour was up before he was ready, and Vila wasted no time getting to his feet and heading out, leaving his lunch virtually untouched. Eager to stay close, Tarrant made to follow him.

“Tarrant? Moment of your time, eh?” Bek called, also getting to his feet.

Vila didn’t wait, and Tarrant watched him go feeling a twinge of longing, but he turned back to Bek. He knew where to find Vila, and anyway, maybe he needed a few moments alone before returning to Avon. “What is it?”

“We haven’t been properly introduced yet,” Bek said, wiping his palm on his thigh. “Bek Carroll,” he said, offering a hand.

“Del Tarrant,” Tarrant replied. He hesitated only a fraction of a second before taking Bek’s hand and shaking it. Although some of the darkness he had felt from the man upon first encountering him had passed, Tarrant still got an unnerving sense of _wrongness_ from him that he couldn’t place. 

“You don’t like me?” Bek asked, straightforward.

“I admit you’re not the sort of man I expected to find Jenna putting her trust in.”

“What, ‘cause I’m a service grade? Deltas got just as much—if not more—to gain from taking down the Federation than any Alpha.”

“I do realize that,” Tarrant said, not sure where Bek was trying to steer the conversation. “I suppose I just find it hard to believe that, as a pilot, she would entrust her ship to one.”

“Your Vila’s a Delta, you know,” Bek said. “She’d trust him with it.”

“Yes, well.” Tarrant tried not to let Bek unsettle him. “That’s different.”

“Oh? How so?”

Feeling like he was being cornered somehow, Tarrant shook his head. “She’s been through a lot with Vila! She knows he’s trustworthy and dependable . . .” Unable to believe what he was saying, Tarrant cut himself off, changed tactics and said, “I don’t know _you_. Of course it’s going to be hard for me to see why they all trust you. Of course I’m going to trust Vila more, even if you are both Delta grade. I’ve known him for well over two years now. I know what I can expect of him. I don’t know you at all.”

“And?” Bek prompted.

“And,” Tarrant agreed, “quite frankly something about you bothers me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. There’s something off about you, and I don’t like it.” He stared at Bek, hoping the words would come forth to describe the feeling. “Something dark.”

“Right,” Bek said, giving a crooked grin. “Like a shadow hanging over me, yeah?”

It was a disturbingly accurate description. “Yes.”

“That’s Shadow for you,” Bek said. “Does that to you. People used to call me Dreamhead.”

“Shadow?” Tarrant echoed. “You mean the _drug_ Shadow?”

“There some other kind?”

Tarrant shook his head. “You can’t be . . . Shadow _kills_.”

“That it does,” Bek said with a nod, the dark look in his eye intensifying. “Hanna and Petie. Largo, too, though he never took any either. Don’t have to be a user to have it control you, ruin your life.”

“Surely you’re not telling me Jenna’s trusting a Dreamhead to fly one of her ships!”

“Not a user, me,” Bek said. “Not that stupid. Been around it though. Seen the ways the Terra Nostra target the Delta grades and ruin them, addict them, use them. Used my fair share of drugs in my time, too. Clean now, and I never used Shadow, not even once, not even when they was practically forcing it on us. But that sort of thing stays with you, it does. So, if I seem dark to you, that’s why. I seen what it can do. I’ll be dark so other people don’t have to be.”

It was a speech Tarrant had not expected, he didn’t know what to say. “Why are you telling me this?”

“’Cause I want you to know where I’m coming from. Don’t expect you to trust me, but it ain’t like they just grabbed me off the street somewhere. Blake himself picked me out, you know. The other Blake, the real one. Said he’d come back for me in three years, see what I’d made of myself. Well, he didn’t have that long, but Jenna did. After the war, I went to Earth. Turned myself around. Real easy for a service grade like me to hide in the Domes there. No one ever suspects a Delta.” Bek snorted. “Them Alphas aren’t half so smart as they seem.”

“Convenient for you, isn’t it?”

Bek’s eyes were hard. “If you think losing my siblings to the Federation’s drug pushing is convenient, then yeah.” 

A strange wave of compassion flooded Tarrant. Deeta’s death still haunted him and Servalan’s meddling there had involved the Federation. He could sympathize. “All right,” Tarrant said, though he wasn’t sure to what he was agreeing. “I believe you’re on our side, anyway.” He gave Bek’s bedraggled appearance a once over. “You ought to see Dr. Morse before we leave, though. She might be able to help you look less like death warmed over.”

Bek ran a hand through his grey-streaked hair. “Nah, don’t bother. Helps me remember who I am, where I came from,” he said with a shrug. “Anyway, not going with you. Taking the ship back to Earth. Running a bit of a reconnaissance group there, I am. They’ll be missing me by now. Jenna says there’s a good chance you’ll be going after Aquitar. Got to get information on that, and you can’t do that from anywhere but Earth. I’ll be in touch.”

“You’re resourceful, I’ll give you that,” Tarrant said. Though the conversation was winding down, something kept him from departing

Bek lifted his chin a bit. “Heard them say Avon’s been conditioned. That true?”

“Unfortunately, yes. We’re working on breaking it, though.”

“Gives me the chills, that,” Bek said. “Just erasing bits of your mind. Bits you never know if you got back properly. Giving you fake memories.” He shook his head, obviously disgusted.

“Avon’s had a couple of rough years,” Tarrant said. “He’s probably happier now than he’s been since before I knew him.”

“I met him, you know,” Bek said. “Back with Blake and them, before. He seemed all right then.”

“A lot can change in two years.”

“Don’t I know it,” Bek replied. “Good luck with that. Wouldn’t want to be in your position.”

“Thanks,” Tarrant said, uncertainly.

“Better grab some sleep before I head back out to Earth. Say hello to Avon for me, if he ever remembers, will you?”

“I will,” Tarrant said.

Bek started for the door to the mess, leaving Tarrant alone. But after just a few seconds, he reappeared. “Just had a thought,” Bek said. “Funny thing we learned about Shadow, sometime later. The Feds were putting a bit of radioactive stuff in it, to make the users easy to find. Kind of an insurance policy for if anyone tried to escape their clutches.”

“Radioactive?” Tarrant said, surprised.

“Yeah. Nasty stuff. They don’t care if it kills you sooner. They’re pushers. Finding new users is their job. But, it gets a thought in your mind, that radioactive tracking stuff does.”

Blinking, Tarrant said, “Avon, you mean? They might be tracking him?”

“Well, they wouldn’t fake his death and keep him alive if they didn’t need him, yeah? And if they need him, why not bug him? Conventional tracker’s too obvious, but something like that. Well, you might have them look into it.”

“It’s a nasty thought,” Tarrant said, disturbed by the notion. “I’ll mention it to Jenna. Fly safe.”

Bek gave a nod and a wave, leaving again to let Tarrant contemplate that possibility. He wanted to join up with Vila soon, but first he went to relay the information to Jenna. It wouldn’t do to take Avon to Horizon if the Federation could just easily track them there.

He found Jenna in the communications room talking to Soolin, and she stared at him when he told her the information. “First off, we’re not going to Horizon,” Jenna said. “I only mentioned it in passing to Bek as a possibility. But it’s too far out of our way if we’re planning a strike against an Earth facility, and I certainly won’t compromise their safety by bringing a potentially bugged—or not—Avon there.”

“It doesn’t matter where you go, if Avon’s bugged you’ll be compromising the situation anywhere,” Tarrant said. Now both women were staring at him, and he was beginning to wish he had just ignored Bek and gone to help Vila with Avon instead.

“There is one place Avon will be perfectly safe, tracking device or not,” Jenna said.

She was so confident, Tarrant almost believed her. “Dead perhaps. Though that is a bit permanent.”

“Not dead.”

Now Jenna had both Tarrant and Soolin’s attention. 

“Don’t leave us in suspense,” Soolin prompted.

Jenna’s face took on a slightly devious expression. “Thanks to Blake and Rashel, we’ve got the perfect place for a rebel base—an entire planet, in fact—completely free from Federation intervention and safe guarded from them for as long as we need.”

“That’s too good to be true,” Soolin said. 

“You must be joking,” Tarrant said.

“Not at all.” Jenna leaned against the communications desk, smiling. “Tell me—have either of you ever heard of IMIPAK?”


	7. Chapter 7

“There’s a faster way to do this, and you both know it,” Tarrant snapped.

They were en route to Dullus, the world supposedly protected by something called IMIPAK, aboard Jenna’s ship _Starlighter_. He, Vila and Jenna were in one of the crew quarters with a restrained and unhappy Avon, trying to break his conditioning; Soolin, Blake and Rashel were keeping watch on the flight deck. 

“Dr. Morse told us not to rush him,” Jenna said. She stood by the cabin door, arms crossed, eyes fixed on Avon. “We don’t want to traumatize him.”

“I’ve been kidnapped by rebel insurgents, tied up and transported to some rebel base,” Avon said, twisting his bound hands for emphasis. “You may wish to rethink your trauma reduction plan.”

“Well, he’s starting to sound his old self again, at least,” Tarrant said.

“Come on.” Vila sighed exasperatedly from his chair, which faced Avon. “Let’s try to focus.”

“For the last time,” Avon said, glowering at Vila, “I do not know of any ships called _Liberator_ or _Scorpio_. I do not know anyone named Dayna or Soolin. I have never been off Earth, let alone visited places like Keezarn and Fosforon.”

“But he does remember Tynus and Keiller!” Tarrant cheerfully mocked. “We’ve come so far!”

“All right, Vila,” Jenna said, rubbing at her chin thoughtfully. “Maybe Tarrant’s right.”

“No. We’re not bringing Blake in here!” Vila protested, staring at Jenna. “There’s too much potential to traumatize him that way! It hasn’t even been a day yet. Give it some time!”

“Time is something we don’t have.”

“If Dullus is as protected as you say it is, then why not? You two go off and take out the Aquitar project. I’ll stay here with Avon.”

“No, you won’t,” Tarrant said, surprisingly himself with the vehemence in his voice.

“I have something to say about this, too,” Avon cut in.

Talking over them to gain control of the conversation, Jenna said, “We need to know what Avon’s told them. To do that, we need to break the conditioning.”

“But not even _I_ could get out of it in a _day_!”

“Avon’s always prided himself on being an overachiever,” Tarrant said drily.

“It took Blake _months_!” Vila protested.

“We don’t _have_ months, Vila!” Tarrant countered.

“I’m not going to let you do it,” Vila said, getting to his feet.

“Stop it, both of you,” Jenna snapped. “It’s going to happen sooner or later, anyway. We can’t all stay on Dullus without running into each other. On top of that, we don’t even know if it’ll do any good. He hasn’t recognized any of _us_ , after all.”

Feeling suddenly vicious, Tarrant stepped toward Avon. “How about Anna, Avon? Do you remember Anna Grant?”

“Stop it, Tarrant!” Vila cried.

However, the words had caught Avon’s attention, and he was staring up at Tarrant with wide eyes, one eyebrow ratcheted up slightly more than the other.

“Who’s Anna?” Jenna demanded, looking between Vila and Tarrant. “What’s he talking about?”

Vila’s eyes were riveted on Avon. “We met her brother once, on Albian. Del Grant.”

“Yes, I remember,” Jenna said.

“Anna’s an old ex, isn’t she, Avon?” Tarrant sneered. “An old, dead ex.”

“Tarrant, I’m warning you,” Vila practically growled.

“Or you’ll what?” Tarrant replied. “Get a ladder and come kick me in the shins? Don’t make me laugh.”

“Get out, now,” Jenna suddenly demanded. “Both of you.”

“I’m not leaving,” Vila protested.

“Don’t I get some say in this?” Avon demanded.

All eyes turned to him.

“You remember Anna?” Tarrant prompted.

“I . . . I remember something,” Avon said. He tried to touch his brow, but his bound hands didn’t allow for the action. “Though for all I know it’s some drug induced dream.”

“Well, that’s a start, anyway,” Tarrant said. He gave Vila a hopeful smile, but was met with only a fierce glare in return. The hair on his neck stood on end at Vila’s reaction. “You may not think it, but I _am_ trying to help him.”

“Stick to something you’re good at,” Vila said bitterly.

Avon put his head into his bound hands as best he could and hunched his shoulders. “I wish you would both shut up.”

“That’s it,” Jenna said, turning to Tarrant and Vila. “Out. Both of you. Now.”

“You can’t order us around,” Tarrant protested.

“If you’re going to insist on acting like children on my ship, I will,” she shot back. Her hand slammed against the release, and the door swung open. “You can come back in an hour or two, once you’ve grown up a bit.”

Vila opened his mouth to protest, but Jenna silenced him with a scowl. He clenched his jaw and stalked out. Once Vila was gone, Tarrant realized he had no reason to stay, and followed him into the corridor. The door closed behind them.

Tarrant fished for something to say to fill the silence. “She’s even more charming than I had imagined.” 

Vila rounded on him, his eyes dark. “You’re not helping, Tarrant! Look, if you don’t want to help Avon recover, maybe you should just _leave_. Go hang around people you _do_ want to be around. All you’re doing now is pissing everyone off and making me even more miserable.” 

Stunned at the outburst, Tarrant replied, “He killed Blake, in case you’ve forgotten!”

“You think I’d forget a thing like that?” Vila shouted. “Not even you can think I’m that stupid!”

Clenching his hands into fists, Tarrant took a deep breath to try and calm himself. “I’m only even here because of you. Because you asked me to wait.”

“And you did, and I’m grateful,” Vila said in a tone that was anything but. “We’re even now, so there’s no reason to stay on to taunt me anymore.”

Before Tarrant quite knew what he was doing, he grabbed Vila by the front of his shirt and shoved him against the corridor wall. A hot, furious fear had clenched his heart at Vila’s attitude. “Did Soolin say something to you?” he demanded.

“Let me go, Tarrant,” Vila said, between clenched teeth.

“In a minute,” Tarrant replied dismissively, trying to keep his temper. “Answer the question first.”

Vila struggled against him, but Tarrant held him fast in place. “When would I have had the chance? I’ve been with Avon this whole time! I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you have,” Tarrant said, the realization making him cold. “Though _why_ is anyone’s guess; were the roles reversed, Avon wouldn’t give _you_ the time of day.”

If the words hurt Vila, he didn’t let it show. “Used to be you’d agree,” he said angrily. “Now changing your mind makes you better than him?”

“I have _always_ been better than Avon!”

“Yell as much as you want; it doesn’t make it true,” Vila retorted.

Temper flaring, Tarrant slammed Vila against the wall again, pressing his arm across his chest to hold him there even more securely. “ _I_ never almost got us all killed,” he said, in a quieter voice.

“Threatening me and shoving me against walls isn’t exactly endearing you to me, you know,” Vila said. He brought his hands up and tried to physically shove Tarrant off.

Tarrant pressed against Vila to keep his foothold. Thighs touched thighs until their hips were brushing together, and Tarrant found he suddenly had to focus on his breathing. “You aren’t making it any easier for me,” he managed.

Vila was infuriatingly silent for the longest time. Tarrant didn’t let up the pressure, and the longer their thighs touched, the heavier his breath came; the sharper his senses became. It didn’t matter they had just been arguing, or that that they were in the corridor where anyone could walk by and see them. Tarrant was rooted to the spot, unable to move one way or the other.

When Vila finally spoke, his voice was low and quiet. “So what’ll it be? Are you going to kill me or kiss me? I wish you’d at least make up _your_ mind.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tarrant countered quickly, but even as he did, his eyes dropped to take in Vila’s mouth. With the thought of kissing him in mind, a hot flash of desire shot through Tarrant. He didn’t _want_ to want Vila, but there was no way to deny now that he did. His throat went dry, and his mind blank.

“If you’re waiting for me to make the first move,” Vila said, ever practical, “you’re wasting your time. That’s all you’d need to shove me off. Make it look like _I’m_ the one that wants _you_.” He paused, eyes focused as he studied Tarrant’s face. “I don’t.”

“Shut _up_ , Vila,” Tarrant growled in the back of his throat, eyes still transfixed by that mouth.

“And _that_ is why,” Vila said. “I’m still not a _person_ to you. I’m a thing to own; to capture. Another notch in your belt, as they say. Use me for a week and then cast me aside when the novelty has worn off, which it would. I know you. The worst part is you don’t even realize it.”

“That isn’t true at all, Vila,” Tarrant said. Every part of him wanted to pull away and laugh in Vila’s face for making such a gross assumption—but he couldn’t.

“What part isn’t true? That you want me? That you’d leave me in a week? Or that you don’t even realize any of it?”

It was one thing to hear this sort of talk from Soolin, but it was another thing entirely to hear it from Vila himself. Just thinking about it was giving him a headache, because Vila was right—at least in part. Against all logic, Tarrant _did_ want him. He wanted to shove Vila into the wall and kiss him, rough and hard; to grind their bodies together until their knees were weak. And, after that, he wanted to take Vila into the nearest cabin and fuck him—slow and hard and desperate.

The want warring against the logic of it—the sheer insanity—was driving him mad. “You flatter yourself,” he managed, struggling to keep a grip on himself. “That isn’t what I want at all.”

Vila’s eyes darkened and his eyebrows furrowed. In a flash, his hand shot forward between Tarrant’s legs and grabbed the swelling length restrained by Tarrant’s trousers. A fierce look entered Vila’s eyes and he gave his hand a squeeze, eliciting a gasp from Tarrant. “Isn’t it?” Vila breathed. “This would suggest otherwise.”

Fire raced through Tarrant’s veins and resisting the urge to thrust against that hand was growing more and more difficult. Anger was the only way he could counter it. “So you want _commitment_?” Tarrant said. “Do you really think you’re going to get that from _Avon_?”

The words had the intended effect, and Vila dropped his hand.

Tarrant had long suspected Vila of harboring feelings for Avon, but it felt good to confirm it so viciously and turn the tables. “He’s certainly never going to dedicate himself to you and only you,” Tarrant said. He pressed Vila into the wall harder. “You’d never be anything more than an amusing little fuck toy to him, if even that. So, where’s the difference?” 

Vila’s eyes were fierce. “You don’t have a fucking _clue_ , Tarrant.”

“Oh? Is Avon a closet romantic?” Tarrant sneered. “Do tell.”

“Perhaps you boys should get a room.”

The voice belonged to Soolin, and Tarrant sprung away from Vila before the thought to move away had even entered his head. “Soolin,” he said, aware how startled he sounded.

Free, Vila adjusted the collar of his shirt and dusted himself off, apparently unperturbed. “Tarrant’s just being his usual charming self,” Vila said. “Threatening people to get his way.”

“Oh?” Soolin crossed her arms, bemused. “How’s that working out for you?”

Tarrant glared at her. “We were doing just fine before you decided to blunder along.”

“Funny, I didn’t see Arrogant Prick Crossing signs posted.” She glanced around for further emphasis. “How was I to know?”

“Leave it, Soolin. He’s not worth it,” Vila said, stalking past Tarrant.

Before Vila went too far, Tarrant reached out and grabbed his bicep, hauling him back. Why he was prolonging this, he couldn’t say. Vila was undoubtedly right; he didn’t want a _relationship_. But he _did_ want more than just a quick fuck. What middle ground that left, he didn’t know. Being turned down was bad enough, but the knowledge he was being spurned for the even less considerate—not to mention amnesiac and murdering—Avon was maddening.

“Let go, Tarrant,” Vila said, his tone flat and cold.

Instead of that knowledge making Tarrant concede to Avon—the man with prior claim on Vila—it was like a gauntlet had been thrown and he and Avon were now in competition.

It was almost laughable that Vila was the prize.

“You’re making a mountain out of a mole hill,” Tarrant said.

Vila shook his arm free. “You’ll never understand, Tarrant.”

It was futile, and he couldn’t do this with Soolin watching. “Forget it.” He knew they were empty words; things had just transpired that they couldn’t forget, but he needed some sort of escape. Let Vila coddle his broken Avon. Tarrant was too overwhelmed to care anymore. The last thing he wanted to do was to consciously pursue courting Vila.

He stalked off, rounding a corner with the intention of relating a highlight of the events—wherein he came out good and Vila looked the fool—to Dayna. He was sure she would get a kick out of the situation and the laughter would do him good. It took a full minute for it to hit him.

Dayna was dead.

He ground to a halt, there in the middle of the corridor. Dayna wasn’t on the flight deck or in her quarters. He’d only find Rashel and Blake’s clone that way. Behind him were Vila and Soolin, neither of whom wanted to see him. Beyond them was Jenna with the broken Avon.

Dayna was dead, and he was never going to laugh with her again, or relate a story to her. She was gone and he was alone. Now that he had managed to alienate Vila, he had absolutely nowhere to go; no one at all to talk to. Loneliness clenched him by the heart in a way he hadn’t known since he was a child.

“How is Avon?” he heard Soolin ask, her voice carrying down the corridors.

Probably he should lock himself in his quarters and give in to the growing urge for self-pity. Instead, he flattened his back against the curved wall, drew in a shaky breath to calm him heart, and listened. Vila’s reply was too low to hear, but Soolin was audible enough.

“If anyone will, it’s Avon,” she said. There was a pause, and then she said, “He’ll lose interest soon enough. If he doesn’t, well. The rate he’s going, he’s bound to get himself killed—or worse.”

Tarrant’s entire body was tense. They were talking about him, talking about how irrational he was being and they were right. Nothing made sense anymore. Before Gauda Prime he had been so in control of himself, his life, his emotions, everything. Now everything was in turmoil. _Scorpio_ was destroyed. Avon had lost his memories. Dayna was dead. Was he really so desperate for familiarity that he’d make do with _Vila_? 

How was it even an _issue_?

Pushing away from the wall, he stalked further down the corridor. His chest was aching. He was alone, and he didn’t want to examine how closely those facts were related. 

He locked himself in the cabin he had been assigned and splashed his face with cold water from the sink. His reflection looked lost and haggard, and he exited the bathroom before he could lose himself studying the lines on his face.

He flopped down on his bed and simply lay there. One hour stretched into two, but he didn’t sleep. Other than to roll onto his back so he could stare up at the ceiling and think, he didn’t move at all. Vila would have gone back to Avon by now. Perhaps they would have brought the clone of Blake in to the room as well. Though there was no guarantee, Tarrant was convinced that Avon seeing and speaking to the clone of the man he had killed would awaken some of his suppressed memories.

Perhaps, by now, Avon remembered everything. Tarrant knew it was unlikely, but if anyone could break a conditioning that quickly, it would be Avon. With Vila steadfast by his side, it was more than possible.

Miserable that he was miserable at the thought, Tarrant rolled onto his side, pulled his pillow over his head and tried to block out the universe.

He didn’t surface from his cabin again until the ship broke atmosphere and came in for landing. At least ten hours had passed and no one had come to check up on him, not even over the internal communication system. That neither Vila nor Soolin had come was no surprise, but he had expected at least Jenna would have informed him to disembark, or sent Rashel to do it for her. He waited another ten minutes after the ship had settled and the engines had shut down, but still no one came.

By the time he finally emerged from his cabin, carrying all his belongings with him in a tiny satchel, the ship was quiet. The flight deck was empty, as was the room Avon had been held in. He headed for the airlock exit and only then did he find the others, milling around outside. They were all nearby, but Tarrant focused on Vila who was standing close to Avon. They were both talking to Blake. Avon’s back was to Tarrant, so his expression was hidden, but Blake’s face was tight and unfriendly. It gave Tarrant a strange surge of hope. If Blake didn’t approve of Avon, perhaps neither would Rashel. The more who didn’t trust Avon, the more likely it was he would be—

What? Killed? Removed? Returned to the Federation? Whatever the solution, it would mean Avon would go away and no longer be a problem.

Tarrant just had to believe that Vila wouldn’t go away as well if that happened.

He watched the crew with a strange sort of detachment. It was rather like watching a vidshow with the volume muted. Tarrant didn’t feel like he belonged; he was merely the outside observer.

The ruins of some ancient, abandoned facility stood beyond the ship. As Tarrant had learned from the shipboard scanners, they were the only buildings on the entire planet, and they were sorry ones at that. Undoubtedly it would be considerably more comfortable sleeping on the _Starlighter_. If he had to watch Vila blindly following Avon around for very much longer, he was assuredly going to be spending as little time on the planet as possible.

Vila’s turn about just didn’t make sense. 

Back on the Mellicon Essoh, it had seemed that Vila had been warming up to him. Even after returning with Avon, Vila had appreciated Tarrant’s company. What had happened to change all of that? Of course there had been the disaster in the corridor, but something had changed to make that a disaster in the first place. They had shared a companionable silence waiting for Avon to wake up. It had barely been twenty-four hours since then.

“It’s perfectly safe.”

Tarrant blinked, redirecting his attention to Jenna, who was standing at the bottom of the loading ramp, looking up at him.

“It’s nicer on the inside than it looks,” she said. “Blake and Rashel have tidied it up considerably.” She took a few steps up the ramp, toward him. “I need to lock up the ship.”

“Afraid of sabotage?” Tarrant asked, putting Vila out of his mind as best he could.

Jenna’s eyes swept over him, speculatively. “I don’t trust Avon,” she finally said.

Something loosened in between Tarrant’s shoulders. “Well, that makes two of us,” he said. 

“I don’t trust you, either,” Jenna pointedly said. 

Jenna walked down the ramp with him again, and began to engage the locking mechanisms, raising the ramp once they were off it. In the distance, Vila and Blake began leading a seemingly docile Avon toward the ruined installation. Rashel followed them, but Soolin remained nearby. Her eyes scanned the surrounding forest, one hand on a gun she must have acquired from the ship.

The ship gave an affirmative chime as it locked.

“Vila could break that in a heartbeat, you know,” Tarrant said.

“I know,” Jenna replied, “but I do trust him. More than the rest of you, anyway. Might as well at least make him think twice before he does it.”

“I see you’ve untied Avon,” Tarrant said, crossing his arms as he watched Vila and his group move out of sight behind some rusting machinery. “Did he remember?”

“Some things,” Jenna said. “He remembered something about Anna. And Blake, a little.” Before Tarrant could say anything, Jenna cut him off. “You didn’t help, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“No, of course not,” Tarrant said, finding an ironic smile. “We couldn’t have that, could we?”

Jenna studied him speculatively. Then, she shook her head. “Let’s get inside. There’s still a lot to discuss.”

She led the way, and Soolin wordlessly fell into step behind him.

The interior was definitely superior to the exterior. So much so, that Tarrant felt as though he had been teleported to some new location. It wasn’t lush or posh, but it was homey in a way that Tarrant had only ever experienced through ancient vidshows. There were no gleaming white walls or polished steel doors. There were no blinking computer lights or glowing monitors. During their years of solitude on Dullus, Blake and Rashel had made parts of the ruins into a _home_.

It was so very cozy it was downright unsettling. Tarrant couldn’t help but feel he was standing uninvited in someone’s private sanctuary. He could only imagine how the two had affected such a change in such a remote place. 

“All right,” Jenna said, taking center stage in the middle of the room. “We’re going to be here a couple days while we plot our next strategy, so let’s get settled in.” Blake and Rashel obviously didn’t need instructions. “Vila, I’m assuming you’ll be in charge of Avon.”

“Avon can be in charge of Avon,” Avon said, his tone dark.

Jenna put her hands on her hips and leveled Avon with a glare that Tarrant was very glad wasn’t focused on him. “Just because you remembered a name and a moment doesn’t mean I trust you. I wouldn’t let you wander around on a ship by yourself. You think I’m going to let you wander around this place?” Before Avon could protest she said, “It’ll be Vila, or it’ll be Tarrant. You pick.”

Avon immediately looked at Soolin.

“I don’t babysit,” she said dismissively, holstering her gun.

Avon’s gaze moved on, and Tarrant straightened appreciatively as he was scrutinized. “Vila, then,” Avon said, returning his glare to Jenna.

Tarrant deflated and didn’t know why. It wasn’t like he wanted to be responsible for Avon.

“Good,” Jenna said. “Then Soolin and Tarrant, you’re with me. The rest of you--I want a meeting in this room in an hour, so get settled quickly.”

They broke apart and Tarrant watched Vila lead Avon away, wondering how he knew where to go. His attention returned to Jenna, feeling resentful without outlet once more. “Just who made you leader, anyway?” he demanded.

She arched an eyebrow at him. “The other choices being an amnesiac murderer and a three-year-old clone?”

“And a skilled pilot,” Tarrant said. “Not to mention a fairly talented thief and lockpick.”

“And a sharpshooter,” Soolin added, from behind.

“And a sharpshooter,” Tarrant agreed. He was only too glad to have someone on his side for once.

Jenna stopped walking and rounded on them. Her eyes narrowed. “If either of you want to lead this sorry excuse for a rebellion, by all means, go right ahead. I don’t _want_ to take this bull by the horns. I’m trying to piece together a group of broken individuals. It’s a job I’d be all too happy to hand over to someone else. Only, it’s clear to me that none of you are capable of handling it. 

“Avon is rudderless and inefficient without being able to work off Blake. That none of the rest of you deposed him and took over before he almost got you all killed just shows me you need someone efficient to come in and take charge.” Jenna paused for breath. “Maybe, in time, you’ll convince me otherwise. Until then, though, you’ll do as I say. Anyone who tries to get in my way or stop me will be left behind. Permanently. Any questions?” Her eyes darted back and forth between then. “That’s what I thought.”

She marched off, continuing to lead the way, leaving Tarrant and Soolin to exchange stunned glances.


	8. Chapter 8

It took four days to formulate a plan to infiltrate Earth so they could attack the Aquitar Project. When not plotting with Jenna and Soolin, Tarrant spent most of his time alone, though it wasn’t entirely by choice. Vila largely ignored him, focusing on helping Avon, who was slowly recovering. He had still forgotten more than he remembered, but the tide of his trust had turned; enough of his memory had come back that he now realized _they_ were trying to help and the _Federation_ was the enemy. It was slow progress and more than a little unsettling to watch.

If the others noticed how miserable he was, they did not mention it. 

With little else to do, Tarrant slept often and ended up having restless nights. Wandering the complex after everyone else had gone to sleep was peaceful in a way it wasn’t in the daylight. Tarrant did not have to put on a front and pretend everything was all right.

He had poured himself a drink in the main meeting area—a living room, in fact—when he realized he wasn’t alone.

“Finally escaped your handler, have you?” Tarrant asked, stepping around the coffee table to sit down opposite the couch and Avon.

Avon eyed him a long time without speaking. At length, he quietly said, “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me either,” he admitted, finally taking a sip of the drink he had poured. 

In the last four days, Tarrant hadn’t said more than two dozen words to Avon, and none of them had been particularly significant. His own hostility toward the man had precluded anything Avon might have said to him. In the quiet of the night though, Tarrant found a vulnerability that he identified with. This wasn’t the haughty, arrogant Avon he had known the last two years. It was a man who had been used and abused by the Federation and rescued damaged and incomplete. With Vila around Avon wasn’t physically alone like Tarrant, but mentally, Tarrant imagined he was.

That was something he could understand, almost too well.

“I’m not entirely sure why being alone out here is any better than being alone in my room, though,” Tarrant added.

“When you come out here,” Avon said, “you’re choosing to be alone. It’s forced upon you in your room. No one likes to be forced into anything.”

They stared at each other for several seconds. “It takes a loner to know a loner, it seems,” Tarrant said. 

“I am not lonely.” 

A flash of hot anger shot through Tarrant. “That’s right; you’ve got Vila to keep your bed warm.”

Avon stared at him, not rising to the bait. “Vila has his own quarters. He is not the only one who can pick a lock.”

The flat return took Tarrant off his guard. “Then what _are_ you doing out here?” 

For a time, Avon just studied him. “You realize there is no easy answer to that. I remember Blake, but not killing him. I should know the rest of you, but only remember snippets. Everything I do remember clearly is an implanted lie. Tomorrow we’re flying back to Earth so I can aid some rebels in destroying the facility that I thought—up until forty-eight hours ago—I had dedicatedly worked at for the last ten years. All of that takes a certain getting used to.” He sighed heavily. “And I think better out here.” He lifted his chin slightly. “What are you drinking?”

Stunned into silence, Tarrant handed the drink over and remained quiet until Avon had drained the glass. “Stupid question, I suppose. How any of them can sleep is beyond me.”

Avon was staring into the empty tumbler when he asked, “You’re in love with Vila?” 

Tarrant straightened in surprise at the words, an uncomfortable tingling creeping along his back. The question alone was unsettling, but hearing the word ‘love’ from Avon made it almost surreal. “No,” he replied, cautiously. Avon’s tone hadn’t been malicious or even curious; he seemed to be merely clarifying a fact. 

Too focused on his own reaction to the question, Tarrant almost missed the way Avon’s features lightened at his reply.

Raising his eyes, Avon asked, “Was I?” 

“I . . . I don’t know,” Tarrant admitted. “I don’t think so.” He rubbed his palms against his thighs, wishing he were somewhere else. “That’s probably a question better suited for Vila.”

Silence stretched between them and Tarrant found himself actually feeling sorry for Avon. To not even be able to remember if you had loved someone . . . he couldn’t imagine how difficult that had to be.

“Sometimes it seems I would be better off if I didn’t remember at all,” Avon said. 

Tarrant pushed to his feet. “That we should all be given a chance at such a fresh start.” He sighed. “It doesn’t matter _what_ you remember, Avon, just what you _do_ with those memories.” Tarrant didn’t particularly want to go back to his quarters, but he couldn’t sit out there with Avon any longer. Of all the things Avon could have asked about, why did it have to be Vila? Wasn’t Blake the one he had supposedly been obsessed with? Perhaps those memories were still too buried. 

He started past Avon and patted his shoulder. “Get some sleep. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Avon stood as well, setting the glass on the coffee table. “You’re going too, then.”

Tarrant turned back. “I . . .” He shrugged. “Yes.”

“Because Vila is going.”

It was another clarifying statement, not a question or a slight. Tarrant would have preferred disdain. “In part, yes. I didn’t go when they rescued you, and we lost Dayna. I don’t want to regret not going again.”

Avon nodded. “I think Vila will appreciate that.”

“I’m not doing it for him,” Tarrant said. Then, softer, he added, “You’ve talked to him, then?” He realized what a stupid question that was immediately. “About me, I mean.”

“He may have mentioned you,” Avon said.

Somewhere, a clock began to chime. The awkward conversation was starting to get to Tarrant, and something in him clicked. “It had to _occur_ to you first, though,” he said, accusing in a way Avon hadn’t been at all. “That you might have been in love with him.” 

Without hesitation, Avon said, “Yes.”

It was almost like being physically slapped. “What about Anna?”

“You were there,” Avon said. “You probably remember what happened better than I do.”

Tarrant clenched his teeth. “So why are you out _here_ , then? Why aren’t you in Vila’s-- Why don’t you just go--” Cruel words kept springing to his lips and dying unspoken.

“As if it could ever be that easy,” Avon said, still completely calm. “I am not sure of anything, and it is a lot to think on.”

“Like hell it is,” Tarrant spat.

“I do not want to rush into anything,” Avon said. “Especially things I do not remember well.” His gaze on Tarrant was steadfast. “And I did not want to tread on any toes.”

“How absolutely noble of you,” Tarrant sneered. “It’s not as if that’s ever stopped you before.”

“Things have changed, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“They have changed,” Tarrant agreed, still cold. “Do you want me to tell you how? Your mad obsession with Blake got us all nearly killed— _again_. But I suppose you don’t remember Terminal, either. And what was it for? So you could gun him down, and get us all shot in the process? I hope it was worth it, Avon. You risked all our lives to kill someone that should have been on our side in the first place. Between your paranoia and his, it’s a wonder any of us survived.”

The calm expression on Avon’s face had turned steely. “Do you have a point?”

“The point is you belong with Blake: dead. I’m not going to let you run us into the ground again. Jenna wants to keep you around, so we’ll keep you around. You make Vila happy enough, so maybe I won’t kill you right off. But don’t think that I feel sorry for you like the others do, just because you’ve lost your memories.” Tarrant glared, growing more passionate as spoke. 

“I didn’t go with them to rescue you _for a reason_ ,” Tarrant said, “and that reason had _nothing_ to do with Vila. You have always been dangerous and unstable. Wiping your memories and then slowly giving them back to you isn’t going to do anything but force you into another mental breakdown. You’ve already killed Anna and Blake, and if you obsessively latch on someone else, I promise that I will kill you before you get the chance to kill him.”

When Tarrant finished, Avon just stared at him. Undoubtedly Tarrant had just triggered some more memories, or at least ideas to think about. He was not ashamed of how pleased that made him. 

After clenching his jaw several times, Avon finally said, “Get some sleep. Like you said, tomorrow is going to be very long. For all of us.” There was no warmth in Avon’s voice anymore. He held the glare for several long seconds and then stalked off.

Tarrant thought about stopping him and forcing the conversation, but he let Avon go, watching until he rounded the corner and disappeared down the corridor. 

Swallowing a shout, Tarrant turned and blindly punched the couch. It wasn’t until his arm was tired of striking that he finally sank down into it, head in hands.  
\--

The next day, Tarrant surreptitiously watched Vila and Avon sit together on the flight deck. They were speaking quietly and had been for some time now. At the sight, something Soolin had said to Tarrant back on the Essoh returned to him: We cling to what’s familiar. He clung to Vila because Vila was all that had been familiar on that prison transport, and that had changed his perception of things even when once they were free. Now, it was evident that Avon was clinging to Vila for the same reason. Those two had known each other over four years; it made sense.

Understanding didn’t improve Tarrant’s mood, it only made him wary. He had seen firsthand what happened to the people Avon got too attached to.

Before Tarrant was quite ready for it, they arrived. On the _Starlighter_ view screen, Earth loomed brown and blue and beautiful. Although it hadn’t been long since Tarrant had been to Earth, seeing that familiar planet fill the screen was heartwarming. It was home, where he belonged.

With just the five of them on the ship, Tarrant should have felt comfortable. It should have felt like being back on _Scorpio_. Instead he was once again on the outside.

Jenna, in the pilot chair, switched to manual. “Not a sight that ever gets old, is it?”

There was a soft murmur of agreement from all on board save Soolin, who, Tarrant remembered, had grown up on Gauda Prime.

“We’re not here to sightsee,” Soolin said, pulling her blaster out to check the clip. “What’s the plan?”

“ _Starlighter_ isn’t prepared to take the facility out from orbit,” Jenna said. “What weapons we do have would burn up in the atmosphere, and we’d be shot down long before we ever got within firing range should we try to attack the Dome itself.”

“Targeting a single facility in the Dome would not only be extremely difficult, but catastrophic, as well,” Tarrant said. “Your missile would have to go through at least twenty levels before hitting the target.” When his statement was met with four set of blank stares, his eyebrows rose. “There are _civilians_ living in that Dome.” Seeing that was not swaying them, he grimaced. “I still have family there.”

No one said it, but Tarrant realized that to them the remainder of his family—and however many Federation-drugged civilians—were worthwhile collateral damage.

“He’s right about one thing,” Jenna finally said. “An attack from afar would be too imprecise. We have to go down and infiltrate the Dome directly. Enough explosive devices spaced sufficiently apart should be able to destroy the facility completely while minimizing civilian causalities.” 

“Thank you,” Tarrant said, bitter. 

“Three of us will head the explosion team,” she said.

Tarrant said, “I’d like to, if I may. I knew Dayna rather well. I think I’ve picked up a few of her tricks.”

Jenna nodded. “All right. The other two will be in charge of overriding the security level to get us access through all the doors. We’re not going to have the time to do them one by one.”

“Guess I know which team I’m on,” Vila said.

Tarrant blinked, a strange fear gripping his heart. “But without Orac, one of us will have to stay up here to operate the tele—“ He trailed off. _Starlighter_ didn’t have a teleport.

“Are we sure we want to do this?” Avon asked, eyes on Tarrant. Avon was the only one not seated at a station, instead leaning against the weapon’s rack by the viewing screen. “While it is unwise to allow the Federation to continue developing a viable teleport system, it is obviously just as unwise to destroy it. It has proven quite useful in the past.”

“We have neither the time nor the resources to steal it from them,” Jenna countered.

“Couldn’t you, you know, recreate it anyway, Avon?” Vila asked. “I mean, you know the most about the teleport systems in the galaxy, or so you always claim.”

“Perhaps,” Avon said mildly. “If I had twenty years of uninterrupted study, an army of intelligent technicians, all the supplies I could ever need at hand, and Orac. Then, perhaps.”

“You can figure out a cloaking device and hyperdrive while you’re at it,” Jenna said, her tone dismissive. “We don’t have time to second guess ourselves. We agreed that that technology can’t fall into Federation hands.” There were nods all around, even from Avon. “Good. Then, we destroy it. Avon, you’ll go with Tarrant. You know the layout of the facility better than any of the rest of us. You’ll have a very short window of time to plant all the explosive devices necessary and we can’t risk any mistakes this time.”

“Can we ever?” Avon asked.

Tarrant’s eyes were on Vila. The thought of going on this mission with _Avon_ while Vila went off and did something else unsettled him. That Avon would also not be with Vila did nothing to calm his nerves. “Then you and Soolin’ll _both_ need to be with Vila,” Tarrant said, looking to Jenna. “If he can’t get those doors open, it won’t matter how fast Avon and I move. We’ll never be able to get the devices set.”

“He may be right,” Soolin said. “Besides, I can bring some with me and plant them as we go.”

Jenna put her hands on her hips, thinking it over before nodding. “It’s probably the most practical.” Her eyes returned to Tarrant. “You two aren’t going to have a problem?” She swept her gaze to encompass Avon.

“I won’t if he won’t,” Tarrant said.

Avon crossed his arms. “I will not jeopardize the mission.”

“Then we’re settled.”

It wasn’t until Jenna had landed the _Starlighter_ in a forest clearing a mile outside of London Dome that Tarrant wondered just how trustworthy the reformed Avon really was. For all they knew, he was faking his recovery, biding his time until he could get back into contact with the Federation and turn them in.

If that was the case, Tarrant would be ready.  
\--

After assembling the explosives, it took an hour to get from _Starlighter_ to the Dome. Vila located what turned out to be a door, set into the apparently seamless structure. “Made to be impenetrable, they are,” Vila said, hunching down to get to work. “Cracked my first one of these at eleven. Bit older than this, though. Didn’t have an alarm. This does.” He gestured to it with his tool. “Used to sneak out in the middle of the night, breathe the fresh air, look up at the stars. Was nice, ‘til I got nabbed.”

“If only we didn't have something more pressing to be doing,” Jenna tersely said.

For once, Tarrant had found Vila’s ramble interesting. “If people aren’t ever supposed to leave, why put doors into the Dome at all?”

Vila just shrugged, concentrating on his work.

“They were never intended to last forever,” Avon supplied. “After the ravages of the Atomic War passed, humanity was supposed to reclaim the Earth.”

“Looks like the Federation had other plans,” Soolin said.

“It’s much easier to control people in their cages when they don’t realize they’re caged,” Jenna said.

Tarrant’s eyebrows rose. “Perhaps we _should_ have blown the top off this one.”

“There,” Vila said, standing up. “That should do it.” At his words, the heavy Dome door opened a crack. “There’ll be a wheel on the inside you’ll have to turn.”

“You mean you’ll have to turn,” Tarrant said.

“And risk damaging my hands?” Vila protested.

“Move it, you two,” Soolin said and got into position behind the wheel.

It was only a matter of minutes from there until they were safely inside. They passed through four underground levels before reaching a clearing where they could safely split up.

“We’ll meet back here in two hours,” Jenna said. “Maintain comm. silence unless absolutely unavoidable. If you miss the rendezvous, we’ll regroup here four hours after that. Do not return to _Starlighter_ unless we’re all together. We can’t risk the Federation finding her before we can all leave.”

“Having a teleport sure does sound like a good idea about now,” Vila said, rubbing his bracelet-less arm self consciously. 

“It’ll be all right, Vila,” Tarrant said. “We’ve all got your back.” Vila looked up at him and for just a moment the worry lines creasing his brow faded.

“Let’s move it,” Jenna said.

Then, Vila was gone, and Tarrant was alone with only Avon.

“If this is all some ruse,” Tarrant said, refocusing his attention, “I will kill you before you succeed.”

Avon, blaster in hand, fixed him with a steely glare. “If I wanted you dead, we would not be having this conversation.”

Avon said nothing else, just turned and lead the way deeper into the complex. Tarrant grimaced; he had no choice but to follow. Despite those words, he knew there were worse ends for him than death, and Avon could easily be leading him into a trap. He stayed on guard.

After nearly ten minutes, Avon pressed his back against a wall and said, “We wait here.” They had come to a large set of heavy, double doors. They were, of course, locked.

Tarrant pulled a satchel off his shoulder, removed the first of the explosive devices and handed another to Avon. Once Vila got the doors open, they’d not have a lot of time to get them all set.

“They should be nearly there, by now,” Avon said, priming his explosive.

Tarrant glanced behind them, but the corridors were still empty.

He primed his device and handed another to Avon. “I don’t like this,” Tarrant said.

Avon glanced up and down the corridor before crossing to the other side. “It’s empty,” he agreed.

“Holiday?”

“Unlikely.” In the distance, they heard the sound of metal clanging as the locks finally disengaged. 

Tarrant let out a breath; Vila had at least got that far. Avon drew his blaster again and pressed against the door frame as it swung open.

Though they waited, there were no shouts of alarm or approaching boot steps. There was no sound at all. Avon grimaced, attached his first explosive to the door inside the facility and cautiously moved further in.

“I don’t like this at all,” Tarrant repeated, closely following Avon.

Along the corridors, the rest of the doors disengaged automatically and opened. They revealed more empty rooms and silent machines.

“Here,” Avon said, pointing at a vent on the wall.

Tarrant pressed his explosive device on the vent. “You worked here before. Why would it be shut down like this?”

Avon’s expression was dark. “I hardly remember everything, but from what I do, it was never like this.”

“Then this is a trap.”

“Very probably.”

Avon said it in such a matter-of-fact tone that Tarrant immediately turned his gun on him. “And you knew all along!” he accused.

At first, Avon’s eyes took in Tarrant’s weapon before lifting to glare at him. “You are going to assume that no matter how many times I deny it.” Avon began priming another explosive device. “Keep moving or kill me now.”

Tarrant barred his teeth. “So you admit your guilt.”

“I admit I am tired of your accusations. You think I am a traitor. Make up your mind.”

Tarrant broke into an unfriendly smile. “Killing suspected traitors without proof is your forte, Avon, not mine.” He wet his lips and gestured with his blaster. “Keep moving.” He wanted to get the explosives set so if Avon _was_ leading him into a trap, he could take both him and the facility out.

“Here,” Avon said, putting a hand out for another explosive. 

After some hesitation, Tarrant handed him one.

Avon primed and attached it. “One benefit of an empty facility,” he said as he continued on the way, “fewer casualties.”

“Since when has that sort of thing bothered you?” Tarrant asked, not taking his aim off Avon.

“I _did_ work here. You may find it hard to believe,” Avon said, “but I have no desire to see more of my acquaintances killed.”

What Tarrant should have done was break radio silence to tell Jenna to run, grabbed Avon and detonated the devices early. Tarrant had no death wish, but the thought of dying in such a manner somehow did not bother him. In some ways, it made more sense than the rest of his recent life had.

“Here,” Avon said, tapping another vent.

Tarrant primed and set another explosive. “It’s a lousy trap,” he finally said. “What exactly are you waiting for?”

“If it is a trap,” Avon said, his tone cold, “it isn’t one I was informed about.”

They hurried through the last of the doors, which led into the main computer room for the Aquitar Project. It was clear that usually the room was bustling with many scientists and technicians. The large room seemed to echo with its hollow emptiness.

Avon set the last of the explosives along the mainframe of the computer. Tarrant knew one alone would be powerful enough to render all the computers in the room smoking heaps of shattered crystal and circuit fragments, but Jenna did not want to take any chances.

“Now we regroup,” Avon said. He turned to make their way out of the big, empty room.

Perhaps that was the plan—to get them all together before capturing them. Perhaps the Federation would even let them return to the _Starlighter_ first, so they could get their hands on the ship, as well.

And perhaps none of it was true and Tarrant really was just being paranoid. At least if they reunited with Jenna, he could express his concerns to the rest of the crew.

Avon reached the doors that led back to the main corridor, and when he did, a shadow fell over them. The motion in the otherwise empty room made them both freeze up.

“ _Very_ good,” someone called, the smug voice echoing in the large room. It took only seconds for Tarrant to identify the speaker.

“Servalan!” he shouted, just as the woman stepped into view. She was dressed in one of her regal black gowns—this one sleeveless—and flanked by several well-armed Federation troopers.

“You followed him even though you _knew_ it was a trap, Tarrant,” Servalan said, mock praising. “I’ve always adored such wild, reckless loyalty.”

Tarrant felt his stomach churning. “We didn’t go through all of this for nothing,” he growled.

“Such a manly display of aggression.” Servalan tilted her head, contemplating. “I’m pleased to see your will hasn’t been broken yet, Tarrant.” Raising an arm, she pointed. “Take them,” she said to her guards. “But I want them alive.” 

“You sold us out after all,” Tarrant hissed at Avon, raising his gun as he took a few steps back.

“No more than you,” Avon said, following suit.

“How do think you escaped with him so easily, Tarrant?” Servalan cooed, moving into her full-on gloat-mode. “It was because we _let_ you have him. And with an implanted subcutaneous tracking device we followed you to the location of your rebel base. ‘Guarded’ by IMIPAK, how clever. No matter, though. We have you now. All of you.” Her smile was bright and fierce. “Well, all but dear Dayna.” She affected a false look of concern. “Oh, I do so hope nothing terrible has happened to her.”

Something inside Tarrant snapped. 

One moment he was defensively backing away from the approaching troopers, and the next he was aggressively stalking past them. In one fluid motion he raised his blaster and fired. It would have been more satisfying to have Servalan in his arms, with the nozzle of his blaster tucked neatly underneath her chin when he pulled the trigger, but this was good too.

She fell backwards in a sprawl, too startled to even scream. The last thing Tarrant saw before the troopers overcame him was the light fading from her eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

“Get up, Tarrant!”

Something had hit his shoulder forcefully, so quite naturally, Tarrant had fallen to the floor. Overhead, lights were flashing on and off, but he didn’t remember any circuits on the ceiling.

“Get up!”

He’d shot Servalan, hadn’t he? He’d seen her fall; seen her donning the sort of face that only the dead could wear. That made it all right, didn’t it? Maybe he could let go now. He had finally done one worthwhile thing before he . . . before . . .

No. He hadn’t finished, yet. 

He could still do one more thing. All around him, the room was lined with explosives. It would only take the press of a button to set them off; to free the entire universe of the terror of a teleporting Federation. He could also take care of that before he died. Couldn’t he?

“Tarrant!”

The lights weren’t as bright overhead, anymore. They were flashing at slower intervals. That seemed somehow significant. One of his arms wouldn’t work, but that was all right too. 

“ _Tarrant_!”

It wouldn’t be hard to get to the detonator with his other hand. It was just a matter of flipping over. He didn’t really need two hands in the first place anyway, did he?

“Tarrant! Space Cadet Del Tarrant! Get on your feet, soldier! I said on your feet! That’s an order!”

Something clenched deep inside him. It was a visceral reaction to those words, and through the haze of pain spreading through him, Tarrant automatically lurched to his feet. His right arm hung dead at his side, and his left weakly scrabbled for a detonator that was no longer there. Almost as soon as he was standing, someone grabbed him and dragged him behind what turned out to be a computer bank.

His strength waned almost immediately, and Tarrant collapsed again as soon as he was released. “Avon?” Tarrant was dimly aware of where he was and what had happened, but the grim faced man had already turned away from him. But it had been Avon, hadn’t it?

“Can you hold this?”

Avon—it _was_ Avon—was pressing a blaster into his hand. “I’m right handed,” Tarrant replied arrogantly. At least, that’s how he meant to reply. It had come out considerably less articulate.

“Not anymore,” Avon replied. He curled the fingers of Tarrant’s left hand around the trigger. Then, with his own blaster, he fired several shots over the top of the computer bank.

Only then did Tarrant realize someone was returning fire: Federation troopers. Tarrant struggled to sit up, clutching the blaster uselessly in his left hand. His thoughts were beginning to congeal. “What happened?” 

“Just keep firing,” Avon said. “We need to hold them off a while longer.”

It was easier not to think. There was a fierce burning spreading along his right shoulder, and not thinking helped that not hurt so much. So, Tarrant worked his finger around the trigger, raised his left hand and fired. The shots hit the ceiling, but that didn’t seem to matter—a few seconds later, return fire was given.

“Where _are_ you?” Avon snarled.

Tarrant glanced over to see Avon talking into his handheld communicator. Jenna’s voice returned weak and tinny over the channel, though Tarrant couldn’t make out what she was saying.

“Well, _we_ have five minutes!” 

Tarrant squeezed the trigger again and this time brought down some ceiling tile.

“I think the ceiling's neutralized by now,” Avon said between clenched teeth.

Tarrant purposefully redirected the weapon at Avon. “You sold us out,” Tarrant accused. The words sounded right, at least.

Avon glared at the blaster, ignored the threat, and fired twice over the computer bank. The return shots exploded the bank inches from Avon's face. “I wish you'd told _them_ that.”

Sharper pain suddenly lanced through Tarrant’s arm, arching his back and making him cry out. The blaster tumbled to the ground as his left hand grasped his right shoulder. He clenched his teeth, twisted his legs straight, and pressed his back against the computer bank. “I’ve been shot!” he gasped.

“How observant. It is about time you noticed,” Avon replied. After more return fire, he let off another two shots. “But you are in considerably better shape than most of them.”

The pain was suddenly excruciating and he only just managed to keep from doubling over. Tarrant grit his teeth to keep from crying out again, and stared at Avon. Pieces were falling into place and the puzzle they were completing was not a pretty one.

“Four minutes,” Avon hissed into his communicator. His eyes shifted to look at Tarrant’s shoulder. “At three minutes, we will rush them,” he said. Those dark eyes lifted off the arm Tarrant couldn’t make himself look at, fixing on his face. “That may still be enough time to get clear.”

“Clear?”

“Of the blast.”

Tarrant let his gaze drift. Three explosive devices for the computer room, Jenna had said. She had not wanted to take any chances. There was one on the wall. It was blinking faster now, as the countdown approached zero. 

“You activated the timer when you fell,” Avon explained. “Jenna and the others are on their way with the kill switch, but it is unlikely they will make it here in time.”

Tarrant grimaced through his pain. “We sure could use a teleport about now, wouldn’t you say?”

Avon bared his teeth in that smiling way of his. “I killed three of the guards. Another may be wounded.”

“Six, weren’t there?” Tarrant asked. The pain was not lessening, but he was starting to manage it. “Evened the odds.”

“Reinforcements are undoubtedly on their way.”

“Who will reach us first?”

“Three minutes. We charge now,” Avon said.

Tarrant picked up his blaster. “Die now or die in three minutes. What have we to lose?”

All he needed from Avon was a look, and then, somehow, he was running and firing. His aim was horribly off, but it didn’t matter. The troopers had settled into a return fire exchange and had not expected the rush. They did not know the room was soon going to be a pile of rubble, and they were not prepared for an escape attempt. 

Avon shot a trooper between the eyes. One was already injured, and one of Tarrant’s wild shots hit him again. If he wasn’t dead now, he would be in another two minutes and fifty seconds. The third trooper ran for the door. Avon shot him in the back, vaulting over Servalan’s body seconds later.

Tarrant showed less finesse. He couldn’t jump over her. “Should we just _leave_ her?”

“Run, Tarrant!”

Avon grabbed him by his right arm and dragged him. The pain was intolerable, but Avon refused to let up. Tarrant had no choice but to run after him, to try to pull those fingers off his flesh.

The corridors were a blur. Before long, he and Avon were passing some of the other explosive devices they had attached to the wall. Avon released him, but Tarrant kept running. His body was on fire now, but he knew it was the sort of fire he could out run and live; that the explosion would be so much worse. No matter how appropriate, or how much he might deserve it, Tarrant didn’t want to die in an inferno like that.

Not like Dayna had.

“We’re coming to you!” Avon shouted into his communicator.

It felt like it took an hour to reach the rendezvous point, but as the explosions hadn’t gone off yet, Tarrant knew it could only have been a few seconds. When Avon finally slowed, Tarrant stumbled into the wall and sagged, out of breath and in considerable pain. The sound of approaching feet sent Avon spinning around defensively, blaster drawn. Tarrant was too exhausted to respond in kind, turning only his head. To his relief, it was Jenna with the others trailing her.

“Tarrant!” Vila cried, upon seeing him.

Hands were on him, prodding painfully at too tender flesh. “I’m all right,” he managed, but he didn’t push those concerned fingers away.

“You’ve been shot!” Vila tore away at Tarrant’s sleeve, exposing the wound.

“It isn’t the first time,” Tarrant mumbled, keeping his eyes fixed on Vila’s face.

Beyond Vila, Jenna was speaking to Avon. “We can’t go back that way. We lined those corridors with explosives as well.”

Vila untied the sash around his waist and used it to make a makeshift sling for Tarrant’s arm. It was painful and dug into his shoulder, but Tarrant was grateful for both the aid and, more so, the concern.

“We haven’t exactly got the time to stand around debating this,” Soolin said, terse.

Pushing away from the wall, Tarrant said, “Up.” 

When they looked at him, he elaborated. “We need to go up. A lift—one of the executive commuter turbo ones—will get us clear fastest.” He grit his teeth against a flash of pain and adjusted the strap of his new sling. “The blast wave is going to flood this entire area long before we get to the exit.” He met Jenna’s gaze. “If we get in a turbolift and take it all the way up, we might just out run it.”

“Why not down?” Vila asked.

“This isn’t the time for discussion,” Soolin said. “Where’s the nearest lift?”

To Vila, Tarrant said, “Not too many exits underground.” He pressed his left hand into his right arm, trying to stop the throbbing.

“Avon, you know the layout of this place better than the rest of us,” Jenna said.

She didn’t have to ask her question; Avon had already taken off down another corridor at a run. The rest fell in behind him, Tarrant bringing up the rear as he staggered along. They passed through a large, open chamber before finding a turbolift. Avon slammed the release, but the doors remained closed; the lift hadn’t yet arrived.

A series of thunderous booms sounded, one after the other, considerably closer than was comfortable. They were shortly followed by an even more powerful bang. At this distance, the detonation was so strong it shook the corridor itself.

Vila and Jenna turned to face the noise, but Avon resolutely stared the lift doors down. “Come on,” he growled.

The cacophony of noise intensified as the blast wave fast approached, and the air temperature rapidly escalated. Tarrant turned at last, staring in the direction the blast wave would come from. Behind him, the lift dinged its arrival and without thinking about it, he grabbed Vila with his good hand and dragged him inside the lift. Jenna was the last to enter and as soon as she was clear, Avon hit the release and engaged the turbo-gear to the top level.

“We’re not moving,” Soolin said, glaring at the elevation gauge.

“It requires an executive key,” Avon replied between clenched teeth.

Pushing between them, Vila said, “Let me.”

Moments later, the commuter lift was rising, picking up speed. Then the blast hit, rocking the lift with the shockwave, throwing them to the ground. The lights flickered and went out, but the lift did not stop rising. Within a few seconds, the lights returned and the trembling ceased; they had, apparently, managed to escape.

No one moved.

It took nearly five minutes to get from the Aquitar Project to their new destination. When the lift finally stopped, the doors opened to reveal a splendid looking white corridor. The lights there were soft and welcoming. Quiet, pleasant music filled the air, piped in through unseen speakers. In the distance, Tarrant could see several smiling men walking toward them. 

They had reached the commuter Alpha levels.

Avon picked himself up off the ground first, eyes fixed on the approaching men. “They aren’t even aware that anything has happened.”

The men grew concerned as they watched the rest of them get to their feet. As exhausted as he was, Tarrant thought about just staying there.

“The Dome’s too big,” Vila replied. “Ninety percent of the people living here will probably never even know anything happened today.”

“And of those remaining ten percent, far less than one percent will ever know the truth,” Jenna agreed.

Tarrant grit his teeth and finally got to his feet again, swallowing down his pain. “Oh, they’ll learn, all right,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “We got Servalan, for one.”

He was met with wide-eyed stares. 

Avon confirmed his statement with a nod. “He shot her,” Avon said. “If that didn’t kill her, the explosion definitely did.”

Tarrant wasn’t in the mood for their congratulations, so he pressed on. “And this isn’t over yet.” He stalked towards the approaching men. “This lift is out of order,” he said. “Go back to your homes. There’s been an accident.”

“Who are you?” one of the men asked. “What’s happened?”

“Tarrant,” he said, authoritatively. “Everything will be explained later. Go home.”

Though the others were still bewildered, Avon soon caught up with him. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded in a harsh whisper.

“Just give me a minute,” Tarrant said. “We’ve got to get to the Alpha override sector. It should be somewhere on this level. My father took me there once.”

“This is no time for a nostalgic trip,” Avon said.

“It’s that way,” Jenna cut in as she joined them, pointing with her blaster. When the concerned men saw her—or, more accurately, her weapon—they finally took off running in the opposite direction. “Broadcast the word?” she said. “Tell everyone that Servalan—Sleer—is dead?”

“Better than that,” Tarrant replied.

Soolin and Vila joined them. “I don’t like this,” Soolin said. “We should be looking to escape. Walking around the Alpha levels is just asking for them to pick us up. How many of these walls do you think have hidden cameras? They know we’re here.”

“What’s the sense in hiding then?” Tarrant countered.

“Tarrant,” Vila said, managing a smile. “There’s an important distinction between ‘running’ and ‘hiding’ you’ve yet to learn.”

“I’ll add it to the list,” Tarrant said. Then, he took off jogging down the corridor Jenna had pointed out. It hurt to run, but Soolin was right: they didn’t have time to waste. He didn’t look back to see if the others were following him, but the sound of footsteps ringing out down the corridor behind him told him he at least wouldn’t be alone when he arrived.

“Left!” Jenna called out.

Tarrant took the turn and soon Jenna caught up with him. She called out more directions and added, “If things haven’t changed too much, it’ll be through those doors.”

“Let me at them,” Vila said, hurrying over.

While Vila worked and Avon glared, Jenna addressed Tarrant. “You’ll have to make the broadcast quick. They’ll pull the plug on all the channels in no time.”

“Not a very good place to defend,” Soolin noted. “We’ll be surrounded—and trapped—within minutes.”

“I’m not making a broadcast,” Tarrant said. His shifted his gaze as Vila got the doors opened. “And if this works, there will be far more distracting things for the troopers to do than to hound us.” He turned to limp into the room.

“Enough,” Avon snapped, his tone demanding attention. “Tell us the plan.”

Tarrant drew up short, smiling through his pain, and then spun around to face Avon. “It’s not a very pleasant feeling, is it? Being left out of the loop; being asked to risk your life for a plan you know almost nothing about.”

Avon said nothing, but Tarrant could tell by his glare that he knew— _remembered_ —what Tarrant was referring to. 

Satisfied at Avon’s reaction, Tarrant nodded, and did something Avon never had: he explained the plan. “You said it yourself: these Domes were never meant to last forever. It’s been over three hundred years since the Atomic War. Don’t you think it past time the people were _liberated_?” 

For the rest of his life, Tarrant would distinctly remember the way Avon’s furrowed eyebrows slowly smoothed and curved up as realization dawned on him. It was a little like winning a jackpot.

The moment soon passed. “We will have to override all the exterior security doors at the same time,” Avon said, his reluctant approval obvious in his tone. “It will not be easy.”

Vila was staring at them, agape. “You’re going to open the Dome?”

“It would seem the right thing to do, wouldn’t you say?” Tarrant managed to give him a smile. “Once the people see what the Federation has been forcing them to endure, they’ll no longer be easy to control, even with drugs. We’ll add the entire population of an Earth Dome to the rebellion in a single day. Let’s see the Federation deal with that.”

Vila shook his head. “But you can’t do that!”

“Vila,” Jenna said, her voice strained with excitement. “This is exactly what Blake was all about! Whatever harshness the people have to endure in the world is better than being forced to live drugged, in a Dome!”

“No, no. I know that,” Vila said. “I just mean. You _can’t_ open all of the doors at once. You just _can’t_. I know locks, don’t I? The exterior ones aren’t set up like normal security doors. You saw that wheel we had to turn to get ours open, and that was one of the easier ones. Each one has to be opened _manually_.”

“Someone’s coming,” Soolin hissed, stepping forward.

“You two keep watch,” Tarrant said to her and Jenna. Making up his mind, he retreated into the override center. Both women drew their blasters and took up position by the doors. Tarrant gripped his throbbing right arm and swallowed down the discomfort of pain again. He needed to focus.

“Computers are this way,” Avon noted.

“Don’t you think the original planners would have designed a more efficient way of opening up the Dome?” Vila asked.

“Once the radiation had dropped to tolerable levels,” Avon said, his eyes sweeping over the computer displays, “it was meant to open automatically.” He pulled several data crystals out of the panel and began a system override. “It should still be accessible. Somewhere.” One-by-one he began reinserting the crystals. 

Vila watched him for several seconds, before beginning a similar procedure on another computer panel. “Just like picking a giant lock.”

Tarrant looked back toward the women, but whoever had been coming seemed to have passed without incident. Jenna was now stalking toward him, holstering her weapon.

“Soolin’s barricaded the door,” she said. “What’s going on?”

“Here!” Vila said. He was pointing at a display monitor.

They crowded around him, but it was Avon who made sense of the complex series of lines and equations. “The exterior was designed to break away in segments,” he explained. “Here, here, and here.” His index finger traced along slightly darker lines, and Tarrant suddenly realized they were looking at an ancient exterior layout of the Dome. “The material was then intended to be recycled by the survivors.”

“Looks like a bunch of it has been bolted down now,” Vila said, studying the layout closely. “This area is where we found that door to get into the Dome.” He enlarged the section. “There’s a whole series of those doors, but they’re not on this old layout. Must’ve been cut into decades later. Won’t bode well for keeping the original segment mechanics intact.”

“They’re on the new plans though,” Avon said. “They were all listed on the one we looked at to formulate the infiltration plan.”

“Yes, I remember,” Jenna said, moving between them. Tarrant stumbled back, listening. “They were spaced strangely, too,” she continued. “Perhaps to work around the original mechanisms?”

“That’d be lucky,” Vila mused.

It was all well and good, but pain and fatigue were making Tarrant’s patience and stamina run thin. “Yes, but can you open it?”

“Haven’t yet met the lock that could keep me out,” Vila said confidently.

“Let’s hope that doesn’t change today,” Tarrant said, stepping forward. He clapped his good hand down on Vila’s shoulder affectionately, then nearly doubled over from the pain.

To his chagrin, all eyes focused on him. 

“You need to sit down,” Jenna stated.

“I’m fine,” Tarrant insisted, and the next thing he knew his vision swam with blackness and he found himself in Jenna’s arms, sagging heavily to the floor.

“Help me with him,” she gasped.

Avon and Vila got him to the ground painlessly and even rearranged his legs comfortably in front of him. “I just need a minute,” Tarrant said. He gripped futilely at his shoulder again, but nothing lessened the throbbing pain.

“You two get back to work,” Jenna ordered, not looking away from him. “Let me look at your shoulder.”

Tarrant lost track of Avon and Vila as Jenna pulled apart the singed fabric of his tunic. He clenched his teeth to tolerate the pain, but it didn’t help much. “Just leave it. Focus on the plan.”

“I do know some field medicine,” Jenna snapped. She tore the rest of his sleeve away, revealing the blackened wound. Tarrant took one glance at it and turned his face away before the sight made him sick. “I don’t think it’s going to kill you,” she said, keeping her tone light. She pulled a small, flat box out of a pouch on her belt. From there, she took out a thin pad, which she snapped in half. A milky white substance leaked out. She applied that to the wound, gently smoothing it in, and then pressed the pad itself to his shoulder.

Though Tarrant could not feel much beyond the pain, he could tell the ointment was cool and tingled. After a few seconds, it numbed the worst of the lancing pain, but the throbbing did not stop.

Jenna was watching his face, and when his eyebrows relaxed slightly, she used Vila’s sling to tie the gauze pads into place. “There’s an infirmary on _Starlighter_ ,” she said, ever practical. “We’ll have you patched up in no time.”

The smile she gave him seemed incongruous. Jenna didn’t like him. None of them did. Over her shoulder, he could see Vila and Avon standing close, heads together as they worked on the computers. Barely an hour ago he had been prepared to die. Now, he desperately didn’t want to, though he couldn’t say what had changed his mind.

“Jenna,” he whispered. His good hand reached up and grasped hers. The startled look on her face was better; it was easier to understand than the smile. He forced a smile of his own. “It’s going to be a long time before any of us makes it back to _Starlighter_.”

The room was growing dark. Jenna was swimming out focus. He glanced again to Vila, but the darkness had already encroached on him. There was just blackness now. 

That was all right, in a way. Vila had the others; Vila would survive without him.

Jenna’s face filled his vision again. She was calling his name now—he could recognize the shape of her lips—but there was no sound. There was only a dull roaring of blood in his ears and darkness. Jenna’s hand tightened in his, clutching firm, pulling him back.

But Tarrant just smiled and let go.  
\--

.. to be concluded.


	10. Chapter 10

Tarrant had never given much thought to death. Losing Deeta and Cally hadn’t made him ponder it. Zeeona’s death had not made him consider if they’d meet again in the afterlife. Not even Dayna had caused his inner mind turn to the great unknown; he’d remained too steadfastly fixed on himself, in the here and now. Despite the life he led, Tarrant had supposed he would live forever, or, at least, that death would be a long, long time in coming. He was young enough, and cocky enough, that it was something he didn’t fear.

So when death was unexpectedly thrust upon him—when he had chosen to take it by the hand—Tarrant didn’t know what to expect. He had never picked a philosophy to adhere to. Was he to wake up in Heaven with wings and halos and peace like the fairytales said? Or perhaps he was more suited for the fire and brimstone of Hell. As he’d never chosen one belief or the other, maybe it was just to be eternal darkness? 

Or, perhaps, rebirth . . . ?

It was the unexpected, persistent warbling of a bird that finally roused him.

Upon cracking open his eyes, Tarrant found cloudless blue sky stretching endlessly above him. A warm, pleasant breeze tugged at his hair, carrying with it the faint, distant scent of sea. It was like awakening into a dream.

As the warbling continued, Tarrant tilted his head to find the source. The bird in question was sitting on the edge of a bedpost. Tarrant was, he realized, in bed. And dressed, he discovered, in a long flowing white gown. Perhaps he had made it into Heaven after all.

Baffled by his dress, Tarrant sat up to examine the garment more closely, causing a sharp pain to shoot through his right shoulder. He gasped in shock and the startled bird flew off, leaving Tarrant to clutch his shoulder alone. It was the pain that made him realize this was no strange afterlife. He was in some sort of roofless hospice, convalescing. 

He had _lived_.

“Brilliant view, isn’t it?”

The voice came from behind him, and by the time Tarrant had managed to sit up fully and turn around, Vila had looked back out over the roof of whatever building they were on. Though he wasn’t watching them, Vila’s fingers were idly twisting together figures out a loop of string.

Speechless, Tarrant got to his feet—he was barefoot—and padded over. Despite still clutching his throbbing arm, he wasn’t entirely yet convinced that this wasn’t a dream. “Where are we?” 

His eyes were on Vila, but when Vila didn’t look to him, Tarrant followed Vila’s gaze to see what had drawn his attention away.

The view was staggering enough that Tarrant found himself gripping Vila’s arm to keep the vertigo at bay. They weren’t on the roof of just any old building. They were so high up that the trees below were little more than a carpet of green. But it wasn’t the trees that had made him stagger—it was the massive curving edge of the opened Dome, stretching away below him, that did. 

“We’re on the very top,” Vila explained. He lifted his eyes, looking to the horizon. 

From where they stood, Tarrant could see miles and miles of trees, interrupted only by a thick river cutting through them in the distance, glittering in the sunlight. To their right, a flock of birds took wing, rising into the air, passing below them. Bits of metal glinted in the distance, and Tarrant realized he was looking at the ejected edges of the Dome.

“I need to sit down,” Tarrant breathed. He was loath to leave the view and as a result seated himself on the ground, right at Vila’s feet.

Grinning, Vila settled down beside him, neatly folding up his legs. It was there Tarrant realized Vila had created a flock of string birds to mimic the view.

The sight from the Dome was less impressive seated, but it was still more than enough to get the meaning across. “It worked?” Tarrant whispered. Despite the staggering proof, it was still hard to believe.

Vila smiled, obviously holding back a laugh. “Pretty successful failure otherwise.” He shook out his string.

Tarrant shook his head, trying to think straight. His memories were hazy and this was utterly overwhelming. To expect to die and instead discover something like this was too much. “Where are the others?”

Vila’s smile broadened, evidently pleased at the question. “They’re all right.” He sighed, pocketing away his string. “Everybody’s all right.” Stretching his hands out behind him, Vila leaned back, closing his eyes to bask in the sunlight. “You’ve been out for just over sixteen hours,” he explained. “A lot has happened.” 

“I can see that.” The view was spectacular, but so was the sunlight turning Vila’s hair gold. “What are we doing up here?”

“ _You_ were sleeping,” Vila said. He cracked open an eye. “I was mostly watching you sleep.”

It was so absurd that Tarrant broke into one of his more dazzling smiles. “I feel like I still am.”

“Bit of a pleasant dream, for once,” Vila agreed. “You’re not though.” As if aware that Tarrant needed more explanation, Vila nodded. “Took a bit of doing, that did. Hacking the Dome, that is. Not something our Avon would have had trouble with, but this new Avon needed some help.” Vila grinned. “Luckily, he had me around to give him advice and pointers when things got a bit tricky.”

“Oh, come off it, Vila.” Tarrant couldn’t stop smiling.

“Careful, now. You could blind people shining those chompers in direct sunlight, you know.” Vila matched his grin. “Anyway, did my part.” He looked back out at the horizon. “Took nearly two hours to get it all worked out and another hour after that to figure out the override.” He became solemn. “Thought you died, you know.” His eyes shifted to Tarrant for a second. 

“If it’s any consolation, I thought I had died as well.” Their eyes met for a second before Tarrant found himself looking away. In a way, maybe he had.

“Think Jenna laid you out the way she did on purpose.” Vila shook his head. “Going to have to have words with her, when she gets back.”

“Back?” Tarrant glanced around, but aside from the bed there was very little of anything where they were. It seemed an endless, flat tarmac. “You’ve _said_ they’re all right, but _where_ are they?”

“Soolin’s around,” Vila said, turning cheerful again. “Somewhere in the Dome. Avon went with Jenna to fetch _Starlighter_.”

“She would,” Tarrant mused. “If just to make me eat my words.”

“That’ll prove to be entertaining. Which words this time?”

It should have been an infuriating comment, or at least irritating, but Tarrant found himself laughing, as though Vila had told a joke. “Before I . . . blacked out, I predicted it would be a long time before any of us saw the _Starlighter_ again. I had imagined ‘long’ to be somewhat more than sixteen hours.”

Vila studied him. “You didn’t think it’d work?”

“I thought I was dying.” Tarrant took a deep breath and rubbed his right arm. “And I didn’t think the Federation elite would let us leave, if it did.”

Vila perked up. “Suppose everyone’s a bit busy right now. They’ll go looking for Jenna eventually, I bet.” Vila fixed his eyes on Tarrant. “Or you.”

“ _I’m_ hardly worth tracking down.”

“Was your idea.”

Tarrant wanted to be offended, but wasn’t. “Pin the blame on a Tarrant, is it?” he asked lightly. Somehow, it didn’t seem so bad. “I suppose it could be worse.” 

“Accolades, more like.” Vila met his gaze. He wasn’t teasing anymore. “Might not be throwing parades or carrying you around on their shoulders, but the people seem happy. Mostly. It’ll take a lot of time to get everyone adjusted, but it won’t be hard to make them understand how the Federation’s been lying to all of them.”

“You’ve seen them, then? The people?”

Vila scratched at his neck. “Sort of. Lots of monitoring stations in that override section, you know. Just took a peek here and there. Some are resisting. A lot of Alphas are upset about it. They would be. Don’t want to upset the status quo and all.”

“I can imagine,” Tarrant said, but it seemed to him that it was past time that the different grades learned to work together.

“There are a lot more Deltas and Gammas than Alphas and Betas though,” Vila said. “The Alphas are trying to deploy Federation troops to control people. Bit hard though, when most Federation squadrons are made up of lower grades. They’re the ones that have been lied the most to. And, it’s hard to deny the lies, too, what with the sun shining in and the walls half gone and the fresh air pouring in.” He smiled. “The suppressant drugs are wearing off. The tide’ll soon turn. Faster than ever. Think most of them are waking from a dream and still a bit disoriented.”

“I know the feeling a little too well.” Tarrant rolled his shoulder experimentally. It was tender and sore, but not painful like it had been initially.

“How’s the arm, then?”

“I’ll live.” Feeling light and free now, Tarrant pushed back to his feet. The breeze picked at his gown and threatened to billow it. “You didn’t happen to bring some trousers up here with you by any chance?”

Vila grinned, almost lecherous. “No. Thought I’d just get me an eyeful of leg.”

Tarrant hiked his gown up to his knees, grinning at Vila’s surprised reaction and then playfully kicked him.

“Hey!” Vila cried, springing to his feet. He scurried back until the bed was between them.

Tarrant laughed, and they began a short lived game of chase. Tarrant couldn’t say whether his longer legs gave him an edge, or if Vila just wanted to be caught, but it seemed like Tarrant had Vila by the wrist in almost no time at all. Once caught, he pulled Vila close and their sudden proximity wiped the smile off Tarrant’s face. His heart did a slight, unexpected somersault and he found Vila’s dark eyes staring up at him.

It wasn’t like before. Tarrant was almost convinced that if he kissed Vila right then, Vila would let him. With the way Vila was looking at him now, Tarrant could almost believe Vila expected it; maybe even wanted it. It was a good feeling, to be wanted.

And maybe he wanted Vila too, but he didn’t _need_ him anymore. That was the difference, and it was what let Tarrant release him.

“You’ve changed.” Vila’s voice was quiet and his tone made the words sound like praise.

Tarrant smiled slightly. “I’ve had a little help in that regard.” The moment between them passed and Vila stepped away, somewhat uncertain. Still smiling, Tarrant said, “Now did you bring me trousers or not?” 

“Right,” Vila said. His wariness melted away, replaced by another smile. “I did.” Reaching under the bed, he pulled out a large green case. “Change of clothes,” he said, more focused. He removed an outfit from the case, and then brought out a small cold compression chest. “And lunch.”

“You’ve read my mind,” Tarrant said. He pulled the trousers on under the gown, then tugged the gown off. It was impossible not to be aware of Vila’s eyes on him as he changed, but that was something Tarrant found didn’t bother him now. “Nice fit,” he said, adjusting the cuffs on the cream colored peasant shirt.

“Thought it was your size. Very you.” Vila sat on the bed and opened up the cold compression chest. “Just sandwiches, I’m afraid. Did I mention it’s been a bit busy round here lately?”

“You might have done.” Tarrant sat beside him, shoulders almost touching, and soon they were enjoying their lunch in companionable silence. 

The breeze was pleasant, the sun was warm and, once, the bird returned to serenade them. It was hard to believe there was a revolution taking place beneath the steel and concrete under their feet. 

About halfway through his second sandwich Tarrant heard a low rumble. Seconds later, a transport ship came into view as it departed the Dome. It hit altitude instead of breaching space, leveling off to head for the unknown on Earth. 

“First of the new settlers, I suppose,” Vila said, watching the ship diminish against the brilliant blue sky.

“We’ve colonized so many other worlds,” Tarrant mused. “Hard to believe we had so much at our fingertips and almost no one knew.”

“It’s not over yet,” Vila said. “It’ll take time. And they’ll need help to keep from falling into another sort of corrupt alliance.”

“Is that your calling? Political leader, Vila Restal?”

Vila laughed. “Much too much work for me.” He set aside the crust of his sandwich and took out his string again. “You probably could, though.”

Tarrant remained silent while he thought about it, watching Vila’s fingers as they began to create another creature. It wasn’t the sort of future Tarrant had envisioned for himself, though that future had ceased to exist the day he defected from the Federation and started running contraband. Quietly, he said, “What will you do?” 

This time Vila’s string figure was a stick man. With just a few moves it transformed, the single man becoming two identical ones standing abreast, linked at the hand. It lasted complete for only a second before Vila shook it out.

In the distance, the sun caught on the shining side of an approaching ship. Though other transports were departing from the Dome, this was the only one approaching. It flew higher than the others, and Tarrant soon realized it was intending to land on the tarmac near them.

Startled, Tarrant leapt to his feet. As the engines became audible, his eyes widened. “That’s the _Starlighter_!” 

“You don’t think I dragged you up here by myself, do you?” Vila called over the din. 

Tarrant held down the bed clothes as the ship landed, kicking up a strong wind as she did. It took nearly five minutes for her to settle and cool, and another five passed before the ramp lowered from the aft airlock. Avon was the first to disembark, followed shortly by Bek and then Jenna.

“I see you cannot even manage to die properly,” Avon said, approaching Tarrant.

“Thought I’d take a page out of your book,” Tarrant replied.

The corners of Avon’s eyes crinkled as he suppressed his smile, but Tarrant was not so detached. He cheerfully flashed his teeth at Avon, pleased to see him—pleased to see all of them.

“Rapid recovery,” Jenna noted. “Let’s hope it lasts.”

“Someone has to make sure you don’t mess things up now,” Tarrant said.

“Created quite a mess down there already yourself,” Bek said. “Lots of cleaning up to do as it is.”

“So I’ve been told. I would have gone to work sooner, but it seems someone thought I’d be of more use sleeping on the roof.”

“Didn’t want you taking apart the rest of the Dome,” Vila said cheerfully.

“Gonna leave the bed here, then?” Bek asked. “Bit of an eyesore, isn’t it?”

“Er, no,” Vila said. He glanced at Avon.

“Come on then, you two. Go faster if we take it down together,” Bek said. He gestured, and Vila and Avon went off after him.

It seemed to Tarrant that he ought to help, but the way Jenna had put her hands on her hips and was now scrutinizing him told him he was meant to stay put.

“I could get you a vid capture if you’re that intrigued,” Tarrant said, managing a smile.

To his surprise, Jenna’s lip curled in half a smirk. “You did good back there,” she said. “Opening the Dome is just the sort of wakeup call we’ve always needed.”

“It’s just a start,” Tarrant said. He watched for a moment as Vila and Bek delighted in loading Avon down with bedclothes. “There are dozens of unopened Domes out there.”

“It’s a start,” Jenna agreed. “Londondome is the heart of the Federation. The rest will fall, soon enough.”

When Avon realized he was being turned into a pack mule, he dropped the sheets and attacked Vila with a pillow. He and Bek skipped back, laughing. Smiling, Tarrant turned his attention away from them, focusing solely on Jenna. “I think you’re right,” he said. “Especially with you leading the Rebellion.”

Jenna seemed, for the moment, at a loss for words. At length, she lifted her chin. “What will you do? There’s work to be done here. You’d be a hero.”

“Or a martyr.” Tarrant sighed. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it yet.”

“ _Starlighter_ needs a good crew.” 

“What?”

“There’s room for one more.”

Tarrant laughed in disbelief. “But you’ve already _got_ a pilot. You hardly need two.”

Her eyes were sparkling. “I’ve got two hands as well.” 

“I thought you didn’t trust me. What changed your mind?”

“You did.” 

They were simple words, but more than anything else, they made Tarrant feel like he had achieved something.

Smiling, Jenna said, “Anyway, I’m keeping Avon.”

Tarrant glanced over, but the pillow fight had already ended. They were now wheeling the bed toward the ship. “There are worse choices.”

“You’re okay with . . . that?” Her eyes were on the ramp. Vila and Avon stood shoulder to shoulder now, attempting to push the bed up the ramp while Bek navigated.

He knew what she was asking, and addressing it even so indirectly tugged at his heart. “Yes.” He let out his breath. It felt good to say it. “I think Avon needs him more than I do now. He always has.” Pressing his lips together, Tarrant gave a wan smile. “And, I think he needs Avon, too.”

“I think you’re right,” Jenna agreed. “Though how they put up with each other is beyond me. I’d go mad in twenty minutes locked in a room alone with them.”

Tarrant didn’t want to think about them like that anymore. “What about Soolin?”

As if understanding, Jenna nodded and changed her tone, looking away from the ramp. “She’s coming with us, of course. She’ll be here soon.”

“Did Vila talk you into asking me?”

“Vila doesn’t know.” Jenna crossed her arms. “You’ve changed a lot in a short amount of time, Tarrant,” she said. “You really shouldn’t be on your own so soon.”

“Hey, Jenna!” Bek called. “Could you give us a hand with this thing?”

Breaking into a smile, Jenna fixed her eyes on Tarrant. “I want you as part of my crew. Think about it.” She held his gaze a moment longer before going to their assistance. 

It was an amusing sight to behold: three grown men needing such guidance. With Jenna’s help, they soon navigated the bed up the ramp.

“You’d be a real fool to turn her down.”

“Soolin!” Tarrant spun around to find her standing behind him. How long she’d been there, he couldn’t begin to guess. He laughed. “What was that, again?”

“Don’t make me say it anymore obviously than that, Tarrant. I’ll make myself sick.”

“I’m not sure my heart could take it, anyway.”

“Well?”

Tarrant turned away from her, and from the ship, taking in the view of the horizon again. He breathed deeply. It was getting late. Sunset was only an hour or two away, now. “It’s funny,” he said. “All my life I’ve wanted to be admired and well liked. Hailed a hero.” He smiled sadly. “Now that people want me around, I almost wish I hadn’t done those heroic things.”

“You must be joking,” Soolin said.

“No. No, I’m not. I’m glad the Dome is open, I just suppose I wish it hadn’t been _my_ idea. Everyone likes me now, but not because they like _me_. It’s because I was useful. Because I did something right, for once. It’s almost like they feel indebted to me.”

“I really am going to be sick,” Soolin said. 

“Why else would Jenna want me along? Why would you?”

Soolin stepped up beside him, staring at the horizon as well. “Tarrant, the fact that you’re questioning it is why. You’re not the self-centered little prick you were when I met you. You want people to like _you_ now, not the image you project. You’ve finally learned to walk that balance between absolutely irritating and charming.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “Barely.” Suppressing a smile, she looked back out. “You’ve changed a lot since GP, and for the better.” The smile won out, curving her lips slowly. “Now you’ve got to surround yourself with people better than you so you don’t have a remission.”

“Better than me?” Tarrant asked, now grinning himself. “Well, in that case I suppose we had better start looking for some, hadn’t we?”

He caught Soolin’s eye and they stood there for a few seconds, grinning at each other. In many ways, it was as surreal as the rest of the day had been, but it also felt right. Everything did: Vila and Avon, being part of Jenna’s crew, even the dull ache that still throbbed in his arm.

“Come on,” Soolin said, turning away from the panorama. “We don’t want them to take off without us.”

Tarrant watched her jog up the ramp and into the ship before looking back to the horizon one last time. Maybe some part of him _had_ died down there in the Dome, but it was a part he was glad to leave behind. Sighing contently Tarrant followed after Soolin and found walking to the ship was easy; it was like coming home.

 

.. the end


End file.
